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!Evelyn Everett (screen, 

ii 


AUTHOR OF 

“The Head of the House,” “Barbara’s Brothers,” “ Her Husband’s Home,” 

“Two Enthusiasts,” * etc. 



“ Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is 
stayed on Thee.” — Isaiah xxvi. 3. 



BOSTON: 


IRA BRADLEY & CO. 


A 


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-i. 

As 


Copyright, 1889, 

By IRA BRADLEY & CO., 
BOSTON. 


Electrotyped and Printed by 
Alfred Mudge & Son, 24 Franklin Street 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. HUSBAND AND WIFE ....... 5 

H. BROTHER AND SISTER 21 

HI. AT THE WARRENS 35 

IV. FINDING A HOME 52 

V. SUNDAY 65 

VI. AT CHANDOS CEDARS 80 

VH. THE NEW MISTRESS '94 

VIH. KINGSLEY 109 

IX. COUSINS 124 

X. AN UNEXPECTED GUEST 138 

XI. MAKING FRIENDS 154 

XJI. FRESH STEPS 170 

XIH. A COMPACT ' . . 183 

XIV. HOME AGAIN 197 

XV. A PLEASANT VISIT 213 

XVI. THE GENERAL’S FETE 225 

XVH. A FAMILY PARTY 237 

XVIII. HILDA 246 

XIX. kenrick’s legacy 258 

XX. TAKING COUNSEI 273 

[»i] 


IV CONTENTS. 


Jt 


CHAPTER 

XXI. 

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

PACK 

28G 

XXII. 

AT CHANDOS CEDARS . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

301 

XXIII. 

MRS. TEMPEST . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

310 

XXIV. 

FORESHADOWING 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

333 

XXV. 

CONFIDENCES 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

343 

XXVI. 

THE WEDDING . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

35 G 

XXVII. 

TESTAMENTARY . 

• 


• 

• 

• 

• 

372 

xxvin. 

8UNSET DAYS 



• 

• 

• 

• 

383 

XXIX. 

ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY 



• 

• 

• 

0 

308 

XXX. 

CHRISTMAS EVE . 







408 



JOINT GUARDIANS. 


\ 


CHAPTER I. 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 



ENERAL REGINALD TEMPEST and his wife 


•V sat together in their London drawing-room one 
chilly March evening enjoying the cheery glow 
of their blazing fire. He was reading with close attention a 
letter that the last post had brought him ; she was turning 
the pages of a magazine, but without appearing much 
interested in its contents. 

The General was a handsome soldier-like man of some 


two-and-sixty summers, very upright in carriage, very com- 
manding in air and bearing, yet exceedingly courteous in 
manner, despite the imperious hauteur that appeared to be 
a prevailing characteristic. 

He had been twice married. His first wife, to whom he 
had been tenderly attached, had died some ten years ago, 
and he had entertained no idea of a second alliance until 
the previous autumn, when he had met the graceful and 
beautiful Mrs. Edgeler at the house of a friend with whom 
he was visiting, had wooed and won her in the course of a 
few weeks, and had married her before the close of the year. 

pq 


6 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


The rapidity with which the match had been made 
took the world by surprise, and was a source of some won- 
derment even to himself. It seemed as if the old impetu- 
osity of his youth had awakened suddenly within him, 
conquering for a time -the caution and deliberation that 
age and experience had taught. He did not admit even in 
thought the possibility that he was urged on to rapid and 
decisive measures by the knowledge that this marriage was 
exceedingly distasteful to his two sons and his daughter, 
residing at Chandos Cedars, his country-seat, which he had 
not visited since his marriage. His sons, it is true, had * 
both of them come to the wedding, in compliance with his 
somewhat imperious command, but he was quite aware that 
they disapproved and resented in their hearts this new 
alliance ; and Montague, his eldest son and heir, in whom 
he took a keen pride and pleasure, had openly expressed his 
hostility towards the marriage. He had too much of his 
father’s temperament to finesse or feign. He was frigidly 
polite to his step-mother ; but there was no doubt whatever 
as to the nature of his true sentiments. Gen. Tempest, 
when he met his son, felt glad that the marriage had been 
hurried on fast. The irrevocable step once taken, it would 
be easier to meet, and renew suspended intercourse with 
his children. Gen. Reginald Tempest was a man of warm 
affections, though of quick, imperious temper. It was in 
part the knowledge that he could not expect to keep his 
sons and daughter much longer about him that had induced 
him to think of a second marriage. Montague was five-and- 
twenty, Hilda twenty-two. In all probability they would 
soon marry ; Chandos Cedars would cease to be their home. 
If he meant to save himself from a lonely old age, he must 
think seriously of a second wife ; this is what he had said 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


7 


to himself sometimes when he first became acquainted with 
Mrs. Edgeler, with the result that in less than three 
months’ time Mrs. Edgeler had become Mrs. Tempest, 
and was at the head of one of the finest establishments in 
London, a position which she filled with an ease and dig-‘ 
nity that were a source of unfailing gratification to her hus- 
band. 

The General was fond of his wife and proud of her ; and. 
yet he was man of the world enough to ask himself some- 
times, with a certain sense of uneasiness, whether after all he 
had not perhaps been “ caught” — as the phrase goes — by a 
clever woman, with designs upon his fortune, and made a 
tool of, when he most aspired to be lord and master. He 
knew, of course, that gossiping or ill-natured tongues dropped 
hints to this effect. Mrs. Tempest, albeit not more than 
twenty years his junior, looked so much younger than her 
age, that only the existence of her handsome dashing son 
and grown-up daughter convinced the world that there was 
not even greater discrepancy in the ages of the newly mar- 
ried pair. She had too much good taste to affect a juvenility 
of dress or deportment unsuited to her years, yet possibly 
she looked all the younger for the richness and soberness of 
the attire which, even as a bride, she selected for herself ; 
at any rate, she looked a good ten years younger than her 
real age, and only a keen physiognomist would have detected 
in the fine lines forming round the clear dark eyes and in 
the set of the delicate lips indications of power, concentra- 
tion, and strength of will only to be found in the more 
mature stages of life. And what had been the history of 
Mrs. Tempest’s two-and-forty years? Was it a noble or 
a sordid nature that lay hidden away beneath that calm 
exterior? A question, in truth, more easily asked than 


8 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


answered ; one for which she would have been puzzled to 
have found a reply, had she ever put it to herself. 

This beautiful youthful-looking woman fiad led a hard 
life — not the less hard, perhaps, that it had been passed 
amid every outward luxury and indulgence. She had been 
one of six sisters, daughters of an impoverished baronet, 
brought up to believe that the aim and object of life was 
to make a good marriage and obtain an independent estab- 
lishment. Claudia had been married at seventeen to a man 
of apparently large fortune, but this fortune had been grad- 
ually dissipated by lavish expenditure, gambling or racing, 
and after twelve years of unhappy married life Mrs. Edgeler 
found herself a widow with two children to support, and 
only some fifteen thousand pounds left out of the wreck of 
her husband’s fortune. 

She had no idea how to accommodate herself to small 
means. She was a clever woman in many ways, but not in 
finance.* Gradually a& years passed by her capital melted 
away. She saw ruin and penury staring her in the face. 
To secure for her children marriages that would render them 
independent and helpful became her aim and object ; but 
Alec Vas barely three-and-twenty and Venice only nineteen. 
They were too young to understand the peril that threatened 
them, or to fall into their mother’s plans. Time was slipping 
by ; nothing had been done. No heiress had smiled upon 
the young Guardsman ; no rich man had taken any notice 
of Venice. Mrs. Edgeler, almost despairing, turned her 
thoughts in another channel. She had not been happy in 
her married life ; she had no wish to place her neck again 
beneath the yoke ; all the nobility in her nature, dwarfed 
and stunted as it had been in the sordid life she had led, 
revolted against selling herself a second time ; yet what will 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


9 


not a woman do for her children? In this mood she met 
Gen. Reginald Tempest, and she liked and respected him. 
She met him ; she made up her mind to her future course ; 
the rest has been told. 

She knew well enough what was said of her in some 
circles — how Gen. Tempest was said to have fallen a victim 
to her designing schemes, how his family believed this, and 
resented it, and how they had in all likelihood vowed 
a tacit and undying enmity to her and hers. She had read 
haughty scorn and resentment in Montague’s proud face, 
had felt certain it was only hidden more carefully away be- 
neath Kingsley’s more quiet exterior. Hilda had availed 
herself of some trifling pretext, and had declined to come 
up to make the acquaintance of her future step-mother ; and 
the General’s visible reluctance to take his wife to Chandos 
Cedars was plain evidence that he dreaded the discord that 
awaited them there. 

No matter: he was kind and fatherly to her children, 
and all else might go. She could hold her own, she told 
herself, with the proudest of the .Tempests. If they would 
have war, war it must be ; but it should be of their making, 
not of hers. She had no wish to do more than claim the 
position which must belong to the wife of Gen. Tempest ; that 
accorded to her, she had no wish to interfere with any one. 

She had been married three months now, and had learned 
to respect and admire, and even to'lovfe, her husband, as she 
had hardly expected to do when she first determined to be 
his wife. She was happier than she had been for many long 
years, and but for an undefined sense of restless scheming, 
that would not be shaken off, she might have been entirely 
satisfied and contented in her present lot. It was far more 
prosperous and peaceful than she had ever looked to enjoy. 


10 


JOINT GUARDIANS* 


She was thinking somewhat after this fashion as she 
turned the pages of her book that night. Her eyes roved 
from time to time about the luxurious room, or settled with 
a sense of satisfaction upon her husband. His face was 
grave and preoccupied, and by degrees, as he read the letter 
again and again, a frown as of annoyance or perplexity 
wrinkled his brow, and he muttered some impatient words 
under his breath. 

His wife looked at him then, and asked : — 

“ What is the matter, Reginald? ” 

He looked up at her, but his glance was absent and pre- 
occupied. He was pulling at his heavy gray mustache, as 
he had a trick of doing when pondering anything in his 
mind. 

When he spoke it was to ask a question. 

“You remember my losing my brother Charles in India? 
— the news came by telegram just after our marriage, you 
recollect ? ” 

u Yes ; about two months ago.” 

“ Just so ; well, my solicitor writes now that he has re- 
ceived from Charles’s solicitor a copy of his will-, or the will 
itself, and that I am appointed one of the guardians of 4iis 
only child. Did I tell you he had a daughter? Phyllis, I 
believe, is her name.” 

“ I think you did. Didn’t you say you had never seen 
her?” 

“ Yes. She was sent to her mother’s relatives when she 
left India. Charles used to say he wished to introduce her 
to Chandos Cedars himself. He was coming over this year, 
poor fellow, when he died suddenly of jungle fever.” 

“ His wife is dead?” 

“Oh, yes; she died years ago. He never visited Eng- 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


11 

land afterwards. He cannot have seen his daughter since 
she was sent over after her mother’s death.” 

“And you are made guardian? Well, it is natural 
enough.” 

44 I am made one guardian,” answered Gen. Tempest, with 
an odd sort of significance, plainly indicative of displeasure. 

“ And who is the other?” asked his wife, with some curi- 
osity. 

“My brother Arthur,” was the short response. “We 
are made joint guardians. I am surprised that Charles did 
not know better.” The General’s face looked stern as he - 
spoke these words. 

There was silence for a short time, and then Mrs. Tem- 
pest said questioningly : — 

4 4 There is some coldness, is there not, between yourself 
and your youngest brother ? ” 

44 Yes.” 

44 Will that make a difficulty about this joint guardianship, 
then?” 

44 It will probably make it practically impossible. Arthur 
is quite welcome to the sole charge of the girl during the two 
years of her minority, or he may hand the sole responsibility 
over to me if he chooses to do so, but to act together will be 
impossible. Our ideas on all social and educational points 
are diametrically opposed. Besides, there are circumstances 
in the past that preclude the possibility of our acting to- 
gether in such a matter. Charles ought to have known bet- 
ter than to dream of such a thing.” 

The General’s face expressed more annoyance than his 
words. He was visibly irritated and vexed, so much so that 
Mrs. Tempest put her next request with some diffidence. 

“Would you mind telling me, Reginald, what your 


12 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


brother has done to cut himself off from his family, as he 
seems to have done ? ” 

Gen. Tempest did not immediately answer. He was lean- 
ing back in his chair, and appeared engrossed in thought. 
He looked like a man reviewing the past, and recalling mem- 
ories of by-gone days and old associations. Presently he 
began to speak, but he spoke slowly, with an air of reflective 
absorption. 

“ There were three of us at home — three brothers,” he 
began. “ I was the eldest, Arthur the youngest. Charles 
was only two years my junior, and we were much attached ; 
but Arthur and I never got on together. Charles was fond 
of him, and seemed to understand him, despite the difference 
of opinions and temperament. He had much more patience 
than any one else. My father and mother thought very much 
as I did about his vagaries.” 

u What were his vagaries? ” 

“What were they not? He had one of those restless, 
excitable, versatile natures, so prone to follies of every 
kind. He had great abilities, great intellectual powers, but 
he seemed able to turn them to no good account. He de- 
clined to enter army, navy, or church; he took up with 
every wild, radical notion that he heard brought forward, so 
that it was hopeless to try to start him in the political world. 
His religious views were very shaky; he dabbled in every 
new agnostic fallacy that came up, but attached himself to 
no one body of thinkers, reserving to himself the^jftivilege 
of sneering at all alike. He had lofty ideals, I admit, and 
his moral character has always been, I believe, beyond re- 
proach ; but for the rest I cannot say that he has ever given 
his friends cause to be proud of him. He nearly broke his 
parents’ hearts by his wild, erratic ways and thoughts, and 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


13 


at length he went off to London, and flung himself heart 
and soul into the most Bohemian of all Bohemian circles he 
could find. He ended by marrying a young actress, cutting 
himself entirely adrift from his home and old associations 
by that irrevocable step. Our parents never saw him again 
after it. A certain sum of money was settled upon him, 
but the family tie was sundered. He was to us as if he were 
dead. We saw nothing of him and heard nothing. It was 
better so, perhaps.” 

“ How did he feel the separation — the alienation ?” 

“ I believe it troubled him very little. He had always 
chafed against the fetters, as he called them, of ; conven- 
tional life.’ He was very peculiar. I doubt if he ever felt 
any regret for his conduct. But after Charles went to India 
we lost sight of him entirely. Charles was the one medium 
of communication ; with his absence all intercourse ceased.” 

“For how long?” 

“ For thirty years and more. Save that I just knew that 
he was living, heard his name incidentally from time to time, 
I knew nothing whatever about him till a year ago, when he 
had the consummate bad taste to purchase a lonely farm not 
five miles from Chandos Cedars, and settle down there with 
his wife and family.” 

Gen. Tempest pushed back his chair and walked about the 
room in visible irritation. 

“ It is just like Arthur to do such a thing — to come back 
to the old neighborhood in the same spirit of defiance of 
public opinion that induced him to leave it. Fancy a son of 
Mr. Montague Tempest living in an antiquated farm, — living 
as they do, a sort of careless Bohemian life, disregarding old 
traditions and society's laws, and trying to introduce into our 
set the unconventionality in which he has chosen to grow up 


14 


JOINT GUARDIAN#. 


himself and bring up his children. Of course, all round 
their name is a sort of passport : people are obliged to notice 
them ; and 1 hear that there is a certain charm in the intel- 
lectual culture of the house. But the whole thing is a source 
of great annoyance to me. Arthur, of course, is a free 
agent ; but good taste and proper feeling should have kept 
- him from settling down to such a life within a few miles of 
llkl^oid home. But then, Arthur never did have any proper 
feeling about anything in the world.” 

'"“Have you met since he settled there? What line of 
action do you adopt towards him and his family?” 

u We meet occasionally, and when we meet we exchange 
a few words. He has been to the Cedars ; but I have never 
been able to bring myself to visit his farm. I know r.is 
children by sight. Calls are paid at intervals between the 
cousins, but I do not think my children take to Arthur’s or 
his to mine, and Kingsley’s illness has been a hindrance to 
intimacy. Hilda’s time has been fully occupied with him, and 
Montague is oddly attached to his brother — quite curiously 
devoted. It is strange to me, for Kingsley has always been 
£he one of my children with whom I have had the least sym- 
pathy, and whom I do not profess to understand.” 

“ How so?” 

“ Oh, I hardly know how to express it. He never seems 
to me a true Tempest. I could never get him to take to the 
army, though soldiering ought to have come to him by instinct. 
He would go to the University with Montague ; and though 
he did so well at Oxford that he justified his wish to go, I 
never can make out what he means to do with his talents. I 
want him to take to politics, but he does not show much dis- 
position to do so. His bent seems for the church, but I have 
an instinct that if I let him enter it he will only throw him- 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


15 


self and his talents away in an out-of-the-way East End 
parish, toiling and striving for dock laborers or people of 
that class. I should have no objection to seeing him a bishop 
or a dean, but I am convinced he is more likely to content 
himself with an obscure ministry in some low neighborhood, 
where hard work or typhus fever would carry him off in no 
time.” 

“He is an enthusiast, then?” 

“ I don’t know what he is ; I never can understand him, 
and I never have done so. He is a good lad in many ways, 
but undoubtedly peculiar. However, this illness will put any 
ideas of hard work on one side for some time, I suppose.” 

“ I thought lie was better.” 

“ Yes, but evidently not off the sick-list yet. I did n’t 
altogether like what Mervvn St. John said of him the other 
day, — that tall, good-looking young fellow we met at the 
Langham, — he is a near neighbor of ours at the Cedars. It 
seems he has never got over the blow he received in the 
cricket-field last summer, and the rheumatic affection seems 
to have settled in the knee-joint.” 

“ He was quite well when he came to our wedding, in 
December.” 

“ Yes ; but he Had been lame all through the autumn. It 
was a bad accident, and at one time Colquhoun was afraid 
he might lose his leg, the inflammation ran so high. Then 
he got better, and seemed all right for a time, but early in 
the year he took a chill, or something, and was very ill, as 
you know, and he is not off the sofa yet ; but I suppose that 
is only on account of his knee. However that may be, it 
will put a stop to any definite plans for the future yet 
awhile.” 

“You have not seen him — or any of them — since the 


16 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


wedding, I think,” said Mrs. Tempest, with a touch of hesi- 
tancy in her manner. 

“ No. I have been busy during the session, as you know. 
We shall go home, of course, at Easter; and if the bill ic 
which I am chiefly interested is passed, as I expect it will be. 
next week, it is possible that we may not be obliged tc 
spend much of the summer in town — unless, indeed, you 
prefer to do so on account of Venice.” 

Gen. Tempest had never spoken so clearly before of his 
intention of going to Chandos Cedars. His wife, who had a 
great wish to see the ancestral home, felt a thrill of pleasure 
and exultation. She had begun to entertain an undefined 
suspicion that her husband shrank from ticking her to the 
house where his sons and daughter had hitherto practically 
held command. Gen. Tempest was not fond of the details of 
domestic government or of the management of property. 
His eldest son had always been brought up to the care of the 
estate, and after her mother’s death Hilda had, as a mattei 
of course, taken the household under her care. The presence 
of a step-mother would be more felt at Chandos Cedars thau 
it would in many houses. 

Mrs. Tempest had gathered as much as this, and was 
half afraid that her husband shrank from the idea of taking 
her thither. She did not, however, show any elation at 
what she heard, but recurred quietly to the first topic. 

“But if your brother Arthur was always so curious a 
character, and if he and you “had been so many years 
estranged, how comes it that your brother in India left his 
daughter to your joint care ? ” 

“That is a point that puzzles me. I can only surmise 
that Charles imagined, by Arthur’s settling in the old 
neighborhood, that the breach had been healed; or else — 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 17 

for the will was made upon his dying bed — he might have 
thought, as under such circumstances men do naturally 
think, that the joint charge might bring us together again, 
and that his last act would be one of peace-making. I don’t 
know, of course, on what terms he and Arthur were, but I 
believe they had always corresponded ; and he may have had 
a better opinion of him than I hold --—undoubtedly he must 
have had.” 

“I suppose this only child — Phyllis, did you call her? — 
will be rich?” 

“I suppose she will come into a pretty little fortune of 
her own : Charles must have savfcd money ; but until I see 
my solicitor I cannot tell how much she will have.” 

“ And what do you mean to do about the guardianship?” 
asked Mrs. Tempest, with a certain restrained eagerness of 
manner. 

“ I shall offer it to my brother, I think. I shall consult 
my solicitor first ; but I do not see my way of acting just at 
present.” 

Mrs. Tempest was silent for a few moments ; then she 
said, quietly, yet by no means carelessly, “Yet Phyllis might 
be a nice companion for Venice. Did you not say she was 
nineteen? — just the same age.” 

Gen. Tempest bent his brow a moment in thought, then 
looking across at his wife with a smile that was a little 
significant, he said, “ It seems to me, my dear, that we shall 
have sufficient upon our hands for the next few months, 
without introducing any new element into the family circle. 
Phyllis will not be very far off if she goes to my brother’s 
house. You will be able to study her, and to decide whether 
or not you prefer to add her to your list of daily cares. I 
will not entirely resign my right to look after the child ; but 

2 v 


18 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


I will propose that my brother take the first steps in regard 
to her future. I shall make this stipulation — that I refrain 
from all legislation whilst she is under his roof, but that if 
she ever becomes an inmate of my house he must equally 
resign his claim to interference. His ideas on education 
and training may be right and mine wrong — I am not dog- 
matic, I hope ; but at least they can never be blended. 
That much must be understood from the outset. I am 
afraid it may be a troublesome piece of business altogether.” 

Mrs. Tempest sat still and thoughtful ; she could not but 
wish that the prospective heiress had been intrusted to her 
keeping ; but then, after all, perhaps things might turn out all 
for the best. Alec, her handsome boy, could not accompany 
them to Chandos Cedars, on account of his military duties ; 
whilst her husband’s sons would be there, and were quite 
good-looking enough to turn the head of a romantic school- 
girl. At a farm-house, amongst rough-and-ready people, — 
such as she pictured the family of the Arthur Tempests to 
be, — the girl would be hardly likely to find congenial com- 
panions, and by the time the autumn had come, and the 
young Guardsman could join his mother and sister, Phyllis 
might be rescued from her rude surroundings, and brought 
into the family circle at a most propitious moment. 

These thoughts flashed rapidly and instinctively through 
Mrs. Tempest’s brain. She was so accustomed to plan and 
scheme that the habit had become as second nature, and she 
was hardly conscious of the plans she formed ; they seemed 
to evolve themselves without any conscious effort on her part. 

The conference was interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. 
Tempest’s son and daughter, Alec and Venice Edgeler. 
They had been to hear a concert, and came in very full of 
what they had just heard. 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


19 


Alec was a gay, bright-eyed, dashing young fellow, a 
decided favorite with his military step-father, to whom he 
chatted away with great ease and readiness. He was a 
frank, manly lad, not very clever or penetrating, quite 
unconscious of the atmosphere of plots and plans in which 
he had lived. Now that he had an increased allowance, 
and the influence of the General to back him at headquarters, 
life seemed an uncommonly pleasant thing to the young 
soldier. 

Venice was nineteen, three years younger than her brother, 
yet to all practical purposes she was far older. She had her 
mother’s handsome, inscrutable face, with its clear, rather 
hard eyes, and peculiarly watchful look. She was fairer 
in coloring than her mother, so that the hardness was less 
apparent, and when she smiled her face lighted up wonder- 
fully ; but for all that it was a face not easy to read, a face 
that scarcely seemed as if it ought to belong to a girl not 
yet twenty. She was dressed with great elegance, and in the 
extreme of fashion. She had the languid air of one who 
spends much time in heated ball-rooms and in scenes of 
restless excitement. 

She sat down beside her mother upon the sofa, and 
slowly pulled off her long gloves. The temporary animation 
with which she had entered the room dieddown in the course 
of a few minutes. 

Alec and Gen. Tempest were talking over the fire together, 
and Mrs. Tempest said quietly to her daughter : — 

“ I find it is all settled ; we shall go to Chandos Cedars 
at Easter.” 

Venice looked at her mother with a flash of intelligence 
in her e}*es. 

“Iam glad of that,” she said. 


20 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ You are getting tired of London?” 

“No, not more than usual ; but what is the use of a 
country hoyise if we are not free of it ? ” 

Mrs. Tempest smiled slightly. Her daughter had put 
into words her own sentiments on the subject. 

“I have a good deal to say to you, Venice,” she replied, 
“but not now. We must have a quiet talk together soon.” 

“With pleasure, mamma; but so long as you make 
yourself mistress of Chandos Cedars, that seems to me the 
main point at issue.” 

“ I intend to do that,” answered Mrs. Tempest, quietly, 
“ and other things as well.” 


iiilimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiuiiiiim 


is 



1 

niiiuuiiiiiitiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiimi 

liiiiiiiinimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! 


CHAPTER II. 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 



SQUARE lofty room in the west wing of Chandos 
Cedars ; walls partly lined with books, partly 
panelled in carved oak ; the dancing light of a 
log fire playing over the polished wood, and glinting with 
dazzling brilliance off the shining coats of mail and warlike 
weapons that hung in dark recesses or were .crossed above 
bookcase or mantel-board ; a great mullioned window look- 
ing westward over a sweeping park studded with noble trees, 
the clear blue and saffron sky of a March evening behind, 
together with that look of space and emptiness that denotes 
the proximity of the sea, — such was the room appropriated 
to Kingsley Tempest during a tedious convalescence follow- 
ing upon a sharp attack of rheumatic fever and inflamma- 
tion of the lungs ; and he lay now upon the sofa, beside the 
fire, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes fixed on the 
clear sky without, and a quiet, dreamy smile playing ovei 
his face. 

He lay very quietly there, as those do who have grown 
used to inactivity and invalid ways. He had his books and 
papers within easy reach, but the twilight had gathered too 
much within the room for him to be able to see ; and the 
scene without — the sweep of billowy grass, the tall trees, 
their swelling buds sharply outlined against the steely clear- 

[ 21 ] 


22 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


ness of the sky, and the peculiar stillness that follows the 
nightly drop of the persistent east wind — was peculiarly 
attractive to one who could only watch Nature’s play of 
expression from within the shelter of solid walls. 

But though the room was growing dusk and dim, the 
ruddy firelight played over the young man’s face, revealing 
very plainly the regular, clearly cut features of the Tem- 
pests, the broad, thoughtful brow, and the large, luminous 
eyes of dark violet-blue, that looked almost black save in 
strong light. Kingsley, though a true Tempest in most 
points, had inherited his mother’s eyes, together with her 
expression — an expression peculiarly thoughtful, gentle, 
and serene ; and not even the trying inactivity, the wearing 
pain of an inflamed joint, or the lingering tediousness of 
an uncertain recovery had queiiched the light in those eyes 
or dimmed the quaintly humorous glance that so often shone 
in them. His face had grown thin and pale, but he had 
changed very slightly, as everybody said. There were a few 
new lines round the mouth, a certain firm set about the lips, 
indicative of endurance and resolution ; but the ready smile 
and quiet tranquillity of his face hid these minor changes 
from observation, and it was generally reported that the 
young man was nearly well again and looked much as usual . 
He was so cheerful, so ready to enter into everybody’s plans 
and projects, so little disposed to pity himself or talk of his 
illness, that it was naturally concluded that he would be off 
the sick-list very quickly now. 

Certainly hjs face was sufficiently serene as he lay look- 
ing out into the clear spring twilight that evening. There 
was no repining, no self-pity in the quiet, steadfast gaze ; a 
clear light shone in the dark eyes, and a half-smile played 
round his lips. Whatever might be the subjects of the 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 23 

young man’s thoughts, they were plainly not those of useless' 
longings or regret. 

Presently the door opened softly, and a graceful figure, 
clad in a closely fitting riding-habit, stood for a moment in 
the doorway, clearly outlined against the brighter light of 
the corridor without. 

“All in the dark, Kingsley?” said a clear, low-toned 
voice ; and the young man’s face brightened quickly and 
visibly, as if a gleam of sunshine had entered instead of a 
ray of lamplight only. 

“ It does not seem dark to me,” he answered ; “I have 
only just put down my book. No, don’t light up. Come 
and sit down and tell me all about your ride. Did you 
enjoy it?” 

“Oh, yes ; but the roads are very hard with the east 
wind. We went down to the shore and galloped on the 
sand. I rode your Bayard, Kingsley ; I want to see you on 
his back again.” 

Hilda had drawn off her gloves while she was speaking, 
and had put them with her whip upon the table. Now she 
came and stood beside her brother, laying her hand upon 
his head and stroking the wave of brown hair that fell 
across his brow. He looked up with a smile and asked : — 

“ Where is Montague ? ” 

“ He was stopped at the lodge by Dean ; but he will be 
here directly.” 

“ There is a letter for him from the General,” said Kings- 
ley, using the name by which the two young men usually 
spoke of their father — a habit contracted many years ago 
when he had first had the right to the title, greatly to the 
satisfaction of his little sons. “ It came by the afternoon’s 
post.” 


24 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Hilda’s face changed slightly. The previous tenderness 
was blotted out by a harder look. 

“To say when we are to expect them, I suppose,” she 
said. “ Mervyn told us the other day that he believed they 
were coming shortly.” 

Kingsley was silent for a time. Hilda sat down upon 
the carpet at his side, leaning back against the low, wide 
sofa on which he lay. She had removed her hat, and her 
beautiful dark hair was a little loosened and ruffled from 
her ride. Kingsley smoothed it with his hand, and as she 
felt the mute caress her eyes softened once again, although 
she did not speak. 

“It will be hardest for you, Hilda,” he said, presently. 
“ But we must all try to keep the peace, for the General’s 
sake. Montague will be so eager to rush into the fray that 
you and I must try all we can to put on the break.” 

Hilda’s calm, resolute face was turned towards the fire. 
Her dark eyes seemed to glow and sparkle, and her lips 
took a curiously determined expression. The customary 
look upon the girl's face was one of quiet, steadfast sad- 
ness, curious in one so young ; but with those she loved 
there was a mingling of sweetness with the sadness that 
gave a peculiar charm to her otherwise somewhat haughty 
beauty, and often haunted the memory of those who caught 
that look upon her face. 

“ I do not think that I shall be tempted to quarrel with 
Mrs. Tempest,” she said. 

“No, I do not think you will,” he answered; “but it 
will be hard for you to see your place usurped by another, 
even though that other may have a right to it ” * 

Hilda was silent for a moment, and then she said, 
quietly : — 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


25 


“My place now — the one I value most — is to be with 
you, Kingsley. No one will usurp that, I think.” 

He caressed her hair again, and she turned her head to 
look into his eyes. 

“And when you are well again we can perhaps realize 
the old dream of our childhood. I will keep house for you 
— for you hnd Montague too, unless he gets married. We 
will leave Chandos Cedars to its new mistress, and make a 
home for ourselves elsewhere. We have often talked of 
such a thing. I think the time has almost come to realize 
the ideal.” 

Kingsley smiled, but it hardly seemed a smile of assent, 
and Hilda was quick to observe this. 

“ Would you not like to have me to keep house for you 
when you begin your clergyman’s life?” she asked, with a 
touch of wistfulness in her voice. 

“ You need hardly ask that, Hilda,” he answered. “ The 
doubt is whether my work will lie in a neighborhood in which 
it will be fit for you to live — ” He hesitated a moment, 
as if he had something else to add, but the words died away 
in silence, and Hilda spoke in quick reply to the first half of 
the sentence. 

“ If it is fit for you, Kingsley, it will be fit for me too. 
The more hard and uncongenial your surroundings may be, 
the more need you will have of somebody to look after you.” 

He smiled, and took her hands in his. 

“ Montague may want you too, Hilda.” 

“ If Montague does not marry, you may be sure his head- 
quarters will be with you, Kingsley,” she said. “ The great 
thing now will be to get you well as fast as possible.”^ 

“ I will do my best,” he answered, with a smile ; and in 
the increasing darkness she did not observe the shadow that 


26 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


rested for a moment upon his face. It was not one of sorrow 
or regret exactly, but something more subtle and difficult to 
define. Whatever it was, however, it passed almost imme- 
diately, and he added, with a touch of quaint humor in his 
voice : — 

“And after all, if it becomes intolerable to you, you can 
escape with Montague, and leave me to the care of our step- 
mother. She was very gracious to me when we met that 
time.” 

“ Before the wedding,” remarked Hilda, significantly. 

“ Don’t be prejudiced, little sister,” he returned, smiling. 
“ After all, we know nothing to her discredit. It is not for 
us to blame her for loving our father.” 

“ If she does love him.” 

“We have no reason to doubt that.” 

“I think my nature has grown sceptical,” answered 
Hilda, with a touch of bitterness in her voice not lost upon 
her brother, “ especially about love.” 

Kingsley made no reply, unless a caress could be so 
designated. He knew, as perhaps no one else did, the full 
history of the sorrow that had fallen upon his sister’s life. 

Hilda had met, three years before, a young cavalry 
officer, Fred Churchill by name, and mutual admiration had 
been followed by a mutual attachment that resulted in a 
provisional engagement. The young man was not yet in 
a position to marry, and Hilda was only nineteen. Gen. 
Tempest, without opposing the match, imposed a two years’ 
probation upon the lovers. Churchill was to win his way 
upwards as far as in him lay, and Hilda upon her majority 
would succeed to a fortune that would at least suffice to 
render the marriage not absolutely imprudent. After that, 
were they still in the same mind, they might marry as soon 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


27 


as they chose ; and the young couple agreed to this period of 
waiting, and smiled at the notion of changing their minds. 
The future looked all golden to them. 

They had been engaged for nearly a year when Churchill’s 
regiment was ordered out to India. The parting was a trial 
to both ; but they were brave in the thought of the future, 
and the knowledge that but little more than a year divided 
them from an inseparable union. Churchill left with vows 
of love and constancy upon his lips, and his letters at first 
were frequent and full of undying devotion. As time passed 
on they became less frequent, more brief too, and soldier- 
like ; but no misgiving crossed Hilda’s heart. She was so 
true and faithful herself that she could not distrust one whom 
she loved as she loved Churchill. She saw cause enough for 
the change in his style. He was moving up country with 
his regiment. There had been disturbances on the frontier, 
occasional fighting. He was busy, hard-worked, preoccu- 
pied ; she thought none the worse of him for losing some- 
thing of the lover in the soldier. Months passed by one by 
one, and letters became more scarce ; but the state of the 
country explained everything. He had been in active ser- 
vice more than once. She sometimes trembled for his safety 
— for his constancy never. 

There had been a long silence on his part. Then by tele- 
gram came the news of a trifling engagement, in which, 
however, one officer and three men on our side had lost their 
lives. The name of the officer was Frederick Churchill. 

Hilda bore the blow bravely. It was a very heavy one, 
in truth; but she was a soldier’s daughter, and her lover 
had died a soldier’s death. He had been brave and true 
to the last, and she would honor his name by a courage that 
should not shame the colors he had worn even to the grave. 


28 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


If her life must henceforth be lived alone, at least it shoulc 
be lived bravely and steadfastly; and perhaps in the greai 
hereafter — Hilda’s views of the life after death were al 
vague and dim and beautiful — the love that had been sun- 
dered here might be united again and forever, and the 
severed hearts be joined once more in the land where part- 
ings are unknown. 

So Hilda, though she wore black robes for the departed 
lover, carried about a calm, sweet face, and was not bowed 
down by the weight of her woe ; her father and brothers 
were tenderer than ever to her, their friends full of sympathy 
and consideration, and, despite the dark cloud that had 
shadowed her life, Hilda was not altogether crushed or 
overwhelmed. 

But there was in store another blow, far more heavy than 
the one that had fallen. 

Three weeks after the fatal telegram had arrived there 
came for Hilda a letter addressed in Fred Churchill’s familiar 
hand. It must have been written just before his death, and 
the very sight of the well-known characters caused a strange 
thrill to run through those who saw it. 

Kingsley took possession of it before his sister had seen 
it, and gave it to her when she was alone. She took it, 
looked at it, and trembled, a mist of tender tears rising in 
her eyes. Her brother kissed her on the brow, and left her 
alone with the message from him who was dead. 

For a few moments she sat very still, holding the paper 
closely between her folded hands. She had hardly shed any 
tears since first the fatal news had been received ; but the 
tears were struggling for mastery now. 

At last, fearing lest her eyes should be blinded, she 
opened the paper with trembling fingers, and spread it 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


29 


before her. The next moment, with a low cry like that 
of a wounded animal, she had sprung to her feet, crush- 
ing the cruel letter together, without knowing what she 
was doing. 

No tender words of love had that missive brought from 
the dead hand, but a cruel, callous farewell ; a plain inti- 
mation that he had tired of his first love, that a second had 
taken her place in his heart, and that all was over between 
them. The very tone, of the letter, the very choice of the 
words, showed a coarseness of fibre, a hardness of nature, 
that she in her inexperience had never before detected. It 
crushed her as the knowledge of his death had never done ; 
it blighted the sweetness of a first love, and withered up her 
faith in mankind, — in honor, constancy, truthfulness, — all 
in a single blow. Her idol had fallen with a crash, and 
there was nothing to take its place. Her heart seemed 
turned to ashes. All the light seemed to pass from her life. 
That cruel, heartless letter had done its work but too well. 
Hilda Tempest was a changed woman from the hour in 
which she had received it. 

That was nearly a year ago now. For a month or two 
she had lived in a curious, dreamy state, only showing her 
desolation of heart by a reserve and a sarcastic brilliance 
of speech alternating oddly one with another. They let her 
alone, knowing that it was the only thing to do ; and it soon 
became evident that trouble had not hardened her heart 
towards her own kindred. 

The accident in the cricket-field that had laid Ivingsle} 7 
low, and had brought him long weeks and months of suffer- 
ing, had aroused in Hilda all the latent tenderness that had 
threatened to wither away. She devoted herself to him with 
a loving assiduity that a mother could hardly have sur- 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


30 

passed ; and perhaps nothing could have taken her so well 
out of herself, or have done her so much good, as these 
weeks and months of watchful nursing. 

By the time Kingsley was on his legs again the hard 
bitterness had passed from Hilda’s face, almost from her 
heart ; and only at chance moments did she betray by a look 
or a word that the wound was yet unhealed. Her brother 
had needed her care again, when, after the exertion of 
attending his father’s wedding and the chill taken upon the 
very day of the ceremony, he had fallen ill again ; and the 
bond that existed between those two was wonderfully strong 
and tender. For herself and her own future Hilda had 
ceased to care. She was convinced that love, in the ordinary 
acceptation of the word, would never again enter her life. 
Henceforth she must live for others ; and her chief and 
brightest hope lay in making a happy home for Kingsley, 
so soon as the time should come for him to leave his father’s 
house. This second marriage made all plain before her. 
As soon as ever her brother was well enough he would 
begin life for himself, and she would go with him and share 
the toil and the labor that he had planned as his own lot. 
She would no longer be wanted at Chandos Cedars ; and 
wherever Kingsley was would be a home for her. But for 
this long illness they might have been living in it together 
already. 

In old days they had often discussed some such plan 
together. Hilda’s engagement had put an end to the dream 
for a time, but there was no reason now why it should not 
be revived. Hilda spoke of it often, but Kingsley rather 
listened than assented to what she said. She was not sur- 
prised at this. Men were, of course, less prone to castle- 
building than women, and it was natural he should wait for 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


31 


more health and strength before entering with zest into 
plans for the future. Hilda, however, had her own pet proj- 
ects, and Kingsley would listen with a smile upon his face 
to the descriptions of the ideal home she was to make for 
him in the East End. 

She had fallen into this vein now, when the door opened 
and admitted the other brother. 

Montague came in and stood before the fire, warming his 
hands in the ruddy blaze. The servant followed with the 
lamp, and drew the curtain across the window, shutting out 
the cold gleam of the young moon. 

“ There will be a frost to-night,” remarked Montague, 
rubbing his hands vigorously. “ It is tremendously cold.” 

“ I thought it was,” answered Kingsley : “the sk}’ looked 
like it.” 

“And your knee told you the same tale, I dare say,” 
said Montague, looking at his brother with some solicitude. 
“ I wish this east wind would change to something more 
agreeable to that member.” 

“ That member is a capital weather-glass,” answered 
Kingsley, with a smile. “ I should quite miss its warn- 
ings now. There is a letter from the General, Montague. 
Open and read it.” 

Montague did as he was asked, took up the letter, and 
broke the seal, his brother and sister watching him as he 
did so. 

He was a fine handsome fellow, this Montague Tempest, 
tall, broad-shouldered, and powerfully built, yet slight and 
sinewy withal, and in excellent physical training, as could 
be seen at a glance by a practised eye. His head was very 
fine, well set upon his shoulders, with a slightly defiant and 
commanding air. His features were regular and clearly 


32 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


cut, his hair and mustache dark-brown, and his well-opened 
eyes a clear hazel, like Hilda’s, and very full of fire. His 
chin was square, and both it and the firmly compressed lips 
indicated great strength of will and determination. He was 
very like what his father had been at his age — indeed there 
was a strong likeness between all the Tempests ; but, whilst 
Montague and Kingsley most resembled one another in feature 
and coloring, Montague and Hilda seemed the more alike on 
account of the greater similarity in expression. 

“ What does he say?” asked Hilda, as Montague finished 
the perusal of the letter. “Does he say when — they — 
come here ? ” 

“Yes, next Tuesday week ” ; and Montague held out 
the letter to his sister. “ Read it for yourself. It appears 
that there is another cousin about to appear upon the scene. 
It seems to me we are rather overrun with cousins just now. 
The six at the Warrens were enough to go on with for a 
time, I think.” 

“Who is the new one?” asked Kingsley, as Hilda took 
the letter. 

“Phyllis Tempest — Uncle Charles’s only child. I did 
just know of her existence. She has been nothing to us all 
these years, and why the General should be appointed guar- 
dian beats me. Her mother’s relatives have brought her up 
so far, and I can’t see why she is to change hands now.” 

“Is it so?” 

“Yes ; the General and Mr. Arthur Tempest” — Montague 
spoke the second name with a distinctness that seemed to 
imply a certain amount of dislike or contempt — “are ap- 
pointed joint guardians. A curious thing for my uncle to 
have done.” 

“ Will it not be rather awkward ? ” asked Kingsley. “ The 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


33 


tw.o guardians are hardly likely to agree as to the bringing 
up of the girl.’* 

‘ 4 Hardly ; that is what the General says. He is going to 
leave the matter for the present in Mr. Tempest’s hands, his 
own being rather full just now. I dare say it will end in her 
remaining entirely with them during her minority. I sup- 
pose she cannot be very many years younger than you, 
Hilda.” 

“I fancy she is about nineteen,” said Hilda, looking up 
from the letter. “ Well, I’m glad she is not coming here. 
I think, with Mrs. Tempest and Miss Edgeler upon our 
hands, we shall have enough for the present.” 

Montague’s lips were compressed ; his eyes glo.wed under 
the straight black brows. Hilda’s words seemed to have 
aroused an unpleasant train of thought. 

“ I suppose you don’t feel up to travelling yet, King?” 

“Well, hardly, I am afraid. Why?” 

“I wonder if a warmer climate might not be good for you? 
You ’ve not lost your cough yet.” 

“You can ask Colquhoun if you like,” said Kingsley, 
quietly. “ Do you want to go very much? ” 

“ Yes ; and to take you and Hilda with me — to let them 
find Chandos Cedars entirely at their own disposal when they 
come. I ’ve tried to make up my mind to it, and I think 
sometimes I ’ve succeeded, but when the time comes so close 
I find I have n’t in the least. I would give anything for us 
all to get clear away before their arrival.” 

Montague’s eyes flashed, and Hilda caught his impetuosity 
for a moment, but a glance at Kingsley quenched the spark 
almost as soon as it had kindled. She looked at her elder 
brother and shook her head. 

“ He could not do it. It is impossible. He could not bear 


3 


34 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


a long journey, even if the climate at the other end suited 
him better.” m 

“ True,” said Montague. “ It is out of the question for 
the present.” 

“ Will you take Hilda away — ? ” began Kingsley ; but he 
was not allowed so much as to finish his sentence. 

“ Do you think your tyrant would consent to be taken?” 
she asked, looking down at him with a smile, as she stood 
beside him. “ No, Kingsley, you know better than that. 
We will all stay and make the best of it.” 



CHAPTER HI. 


AT THE WARRENS. 



I^HUS we see in this, as in every 
ment of Nature’s making, a 


Give it back 


monious — ’ ” 

“ Monkey, I won’t have it ! 


other arrange- 
beautiful, har- 

to me this mo- 


ment ! ” 


“ ‘ A beautiful, harmonious adjustment of what at first 
sight looked like conflicting elements — ’ ” 

“ Monkey, you sha’n’t ! I will have it back ! ” 

Then followed a scramble, a scuffle, laughing taunts and 
rejoinders, and a race round the desks and tables of that 
big, flagged, kitchen-like room. The boy held the manuscript 
book high up out of reach, but the girl was active and agile 
as a kitten. She jumped up and snatched it from his grasp, 
threw it into a desk, and promptly turned the key upon it. 

“ There, }'ou tiresome boy ! ” she cried, turning her flushed, 
laughing face upon him. “You well deserve your name. 
You are the most mischievous monkey in the world ! ” 

“What a noise you do make, children!” said a quiet, 
musical voice from the far end of the room. “ What is the 
matter ? ” 

“ It is Monkey’s fault. He stole my essay away just as I 
was trying to get it finished,” answered Beryl. “ He is the 
most tiresome boy in the world, as everybody knows.” 

[ 35 ] 


36 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“Well, it’s something to have a world-wide reputation, 
anyhow,” said the laughing, curly-haired lad of sixteen, 
dubbed by his sister the “ Monkey.” “You can’t think how 
improving Berry’s essays are, Ursula. Speak of ‘ talking 
like a book,’ she writes like ten books all rolled into one. I 
shall have to follow Mark Twain’s example, and advise her 
to keep her ideas where she can reach them with a dictionary ! ” 
And the boy vaulted over the nearest desk, and turned an 
agile somersault in the open space beyond. 

Ursula raised her grave eyes from the pages of her Dante 
with a subdued and rather absent smile. 

“ If you are not going to work any more, Beryl, I wish 
you would go somewhere else, and let me finish my transla- 
tion in peace.” 

Truth to tell, there seemed small chance of peace in that 
odd-looking study, for, besides the noise made by the dis- 
putants in the middle of the room, a younger boy in a corner 
was scraping away vigorously upon his violin, practising 
exercises that might be technically useful, but that were any- 
thing but soothing to the ears of listeners. 

Ursula, however, seemed in no wise disturbed by these 
sounds, nor indeed very much by the hubbub caused by 
Beryl and Ted, who made no haste to take her hint. She 
quietly returned to her translation with the air of one well 
accustomed to work in an uproar of sound. 

This old-looking study or school-room was in fact nothing 
more nor less than a large unused kitchen at the back of the 
rambling farm-house known as the “Warrens,” and the 
present occupants were the four youngest of Mr. Arthur 
Tempest’s six children. 

Mrs. Tempest was known to say of her family that, with 
the exception of her eldest son, resident in London, none of 


AT THE WARRENS. 


37 


them ever seemed their true age. That is to say, their pur- 
suits and interests were bounded by their books, their studies, 
and their games, and they had none of them begun to look 
at life save from the stand-point of school-boys and school- 
girls. Yet Ursula was twenty and Beryl eighteen, ages at 
which most girls begin to long to put aside hard study and to 
emerge from the chrysalis into the butterfly. These two, 
however, had not evinced the smallest wish for a change of 
this kind ; and Ursula’s calm, strong face would put on a 
smile almost of contempt when an}’ one asked her if she did 
not long to “ come out,” and go to dinners and parties. 

“ I should call that ‘ going in,’” was the somewhat enig- 
matic answer with which she had puzzled one or two such 
questioners ; and Beryl, who, despite the radical differences in 
their temperaments, loved and admired her elder sister above 
everything, emulated and even exaggerated her sentiments^ 
and had been known to say that nothing would ever induce 
her to “finish her education,” and grow into a fashionable 
young lady ; and it was only because her mother wished it 
that she made up her mind to take lessons in music and 
sinofino- — matters that savored far too much of “ accom- 
plishments ” for her classical taste. 

It was natural that Ted — commonly known at home as 
the “Monkey,” from his peculiar agility and propensity to 
mischief — and Cecil, aged respectively sixteen and thirteen, 
should be indifferent as yet to the attractions of the social 
world ; but Lancelot, who was one year younger than Ursula, 
was as keenly averse as his sisters to any form of social 
gavety, and the greatest trial of his life, as he sometimes 
said, was the occasional stern necessity for donning an even- 
ing suit. 

It was therefore a source of unmixed joy to all his family 


38 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


when Mr. Tempest bought the Warrens, and settled down 
there in the lonely seclusion of wood and moorland. Many 
as had been the charms of London to the studious family — • 
the courses of lectures, the proximity of the British Museum, 
the concerts and the picture galleries, to which easy access 
could be obtained — yet they had now reached, or were 
approaching, an age when more was expected of them than 
the life of simple students, and they had felt a longing for 
solitude and freedom that had been amply gratified by the 
quiet and leisure of the lonely farm-house. 

Each boy or girl had his or her own pet hobby and most 
cherished studies, and here they had perfect liberty to prose- 
cute them as they would. The girls’ education was carried 
on by themselves, directed by father or mother ; and although 
the boys had a tutor, he was ^uch a favorite with them, and 
showed such readiness to allow each pupil to follow the bent 
of his own individual mind, that they seemed to have almost 
the same liberty as the girls, and enjoyed it with the same 
zest. 

The Warrens was an odd, rambling old house, such a 
house as a yeoman of past times would have built for himself 
and his family. There were large, low living-rooms with odd 
recesses, bits of quaint carving, latticed windows, and doors 
leading by shallow, uneven steps into unexpected passages 
or other rooms, that appeared to be in quite a different place. 
There were great kitchens, bake-houses, and laundries, dairies 
that were cool and chill in the sultriest summer weather, and 
interminable ranges of outbuildings that Mr. Tempest hoped 
by degrees to fill with “ stock ” ; for, after a laborious life of 
study, which had somewhat impaired his health, he had 
returned with an odd sort of zest to the once-despised associa- 
tions of his youth, and was quite pleased to reinvigorate both 


AT THE WARRENS. 


39 


mind and body by plunging into the mysteries of farming. A 
year had done much for him both in health and spirits, and 
he enjoyed the change from the bustle of town to the solitude 
of the country as much as his children did. The Warrens 
was a very happy home to the united family that inhabited it. 

Ursula was still busy with her Italian translation, Cecil 
with his fiddle, and Ted and Beryl with their laughing dis- 
pute, when the door opened and their mother appeared on the 
threshold. 

Her presence caused a cessation of noise ; all the faces 
turned towards her with that unconscious, instinctive smile 
that is the best of all welcomes. The biggest of the range 
of kitchens, which stood in the rear of the main building, 
and opened into a delightful old orchard, had been pounced 
upon by the girls from the .first as their especial sanctum, 
although out of study hours the boys used it more freely 
than the laundry that had been given up to their use. This 
cool and quiet retreat was not very often invaded by father 
or mother, so that Mrs. Tempest’s appearance there this 
afternoon indicated that she had some news to communi- 
cate. 

Ted sprang forward, going out of his road to vault over a 
table, as was his way, and placed a chair for his mother with 
great accuracy in the middle of the floor. Ursula laid down her 
pen, Cecil lowered his violin and unscrewed bis bow, prepar- 
atory to putting both in their case, whilst Beryl took a seat 
upon a high desk and put the quick question : — 

“ What is it, Mutterchen ? ” 

“ I have just got a letter from father.” 

“ About Phyllis?” 

“Yes, about Phyllis.” 

The faces of the two girls expressed a lively interest 


40 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Ted and Cecil approached a step or two nearer, and listened 
with all their ears, though without asking any of the ques- 
tions that rose quickly to the lips of the sisters. 

“Has he seen her? What does he think about her? 
Has he seen Uncle Reginald? What have they arranged 
about it?” 

Mrs. Tempest smiled a little as she heard these eager 
inquiries. 

“Your father had an interview with your uncle at their 
solicitor’s office, and it was arranged between them that for 
the present Phyllis should become our charge. Gen. Tempest 
has a great deal on his hands just now, and would be glad 
for the present to be spared further'cares. At the same time 
he takes an interest in his favorite brother’s only child, and 
does not permanently renounce his guardianship. He .will 
see Phyllis from time to time whilst she is with us, and, per- 
haps, later on she may spend some part of her minority at 
Chandos Cedars. The stipulation that has been made is that 
whilst she is with us we arrange matters for her according to 
our own views, whilst so soon as she goes to her other uncle’s 
we cease to interfere in any way with any plans of his.” 

“ A kind of 4 Anna Ross ’ arrangement,” said Beryl, with 
a laugh. “I wonder how it will end? In the old way, I 
predict — an undying affection for the obscure poor relatives, 
and a lordly contempt for the rich worldlings ! ” 

Mrs. Tempest put up her hand in a little gesture of re- 
proof. “ My little daughter is very ready to condemn her 
relatives, and that upon the smallest grounds.” 

“ Not so very small, Miitterchen,” answered Beryl, quickly. 
“I’m sure, of all proud, supercilious, cut-and-dried, con- 
ventional people who ever lived, the Tempests at the Cedars 
are the worst ! They hardly know how to put up with even 


AT THE WARRENS. 


41 


an occasional meeting or recognition with low people like us. 
They quite hate us, I know, for having the same name as 
themselves. I believe they would give anything to be able 
to take it away from us. How I do despise narrow-minded- 
ness of that kind ! ” 

Mrs. Tempest smiled in her quiet way. 

“ I think, my dear, that you have a great deal more an- 
tagonism towards them than they have towards us. I have 
quite failed to see any such active enmity as you describe. 
A quiet indifference and a little coolness is all I can see. ,, 

“ We are not worth hating, you see,” said Ursula, with a 
slightly scornful turn of her shapely head. “We are on far 
too low a level to provoke anything so flattering as actual 
enmity.” 

Again Mrs. Tempest smiled ; but she was too wise to 
attempt to modify by argument a notion that was evidently 
firmly fixed. 

“Don’t you want to hear about Phyllis ? ” she asked ; and, 
as Beryl gave an eager assent, she continued : “Your father 
went to see her after the interview with Gen. Tempest, and 
explained to her what was to be done with her. She seemed 
very much gratified at coming here to be with companions 
of her own age, and was pleased that there would be no 
delay beyond the few days necessary for getting her things 
together and packing up. Father will bring her home with 
him on Saturday.” 

Ursula and Beryl exchanged glances ; they wondered 
what it would be like to have a cousin living with them, join- 
ing in their pursuits, and sharing their life. They were half 
pleased, half apprehensive at the notion. 

“On Saturday; that is very soon. I wonder whether 
she will like it — whether it will be nice having her? Does 


42 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


father say anything about her — what she is like, or whai 
her tastes are ? ” 

“ He says she is very pretty and very bright in her ways, 
although she must have been pretty dull with only her twc 
great-aunts and a governess for companions all her life. The 
governess left last year, and I think the poor child must have 
been duller than ever then. At any rate, although fond ol 
her aged aunts, she seemed delighted at the thought of get- 
ting into a more lively household. She had been looking 
forward so eagerly for her father’s return ; and although she 
hardly remembered him, his sudden death distressed her very 
much, and seemed to overturn her whole future. But the 
loss is not to her what it would be if she had known her 
father personally, and no doubt she will cheer up very quickly 
when we get her here. Her eagerness to come almost proves 
as much.” 

‘ 4 Why has she never come before ? Why did we never 
go to see her in London ? Why has she been brought up not 
knowing any but her mother's relatives? These great-aunts 
are her mother’s relatives, of course?” 

“Yes, they brought up her mother, who was early or- 
phaned of both parents, and they were eager for the care of 
the little daughter. Why she was never allowed to make 
acquaintance with uncles or cousins I have never heard en- 
tirely explained. Your father thinks, however, that it was 
due to your Uncle Charles’s regret at the estrangement be- 
tween two brothers that he loved, and his wish to prevent 
his child from becoming a partisan of either. He always 
said he wished to introduce Phyllis himself to his own family, 
and was waiting till his return to do so. Death frustrated 
this scheme ; but in all probability when he made his last will 
upon his dying bed he believed that the old enmity had died 


AT THE WARRENS. 


43 


away, and that brothers who were living as near neighbors 
would have no objection to act as joint guardians to his 
daughter.” 

“Only, as it happens, they don’t like the task as well as 
was anticipated,” put in Cecil, in the dry way that stamped 
this youngest boy as something of an original. 

“At least they are willing to accept it and to make the 
best of it,” answered Mrs. Tempest, with a smile. “ And 
you must all of you help to make Phyllis happy amongst 
us.” 

“Phyllis is my only joy,” remarked Cecil, gravely. “I 
will hold myself responsible for her happiness. She shall 
play my accompaniments for me when the bookworms are at 
work. What could she wish for more? ” 

“And what do the old aunts say to the arrangement?” 
asked Ursula. “ How do they like losing Phyllis? ” 

“ They are growing so old and infirm that they feel the 
sole charge of a young girl rather too much. They would 
have given it up earlier but for the wish to keep her till her 
father’s return. Old people take life and its changes quietly. 
They love the girl, and hope to see her from time to time, 
but are more than willing to give her up to a more lively and 
healthy life. They are aware that the course of their placid 
existence cannot be altogether pleasant or natural for a 
bright young girl.” 

There was a pause, which Ursula broke by remarking, 
thoughtfully : — 

“And so she comes on Saturday?” 

“ Yes ; and as Easter is coming so near, I think your holi- 
days might date from that day, boys. Has Mr. St. John 
gone yet, Ted?” 

“ He was talking art with Lancelot in the library when 


44 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


I left them/’ answered Ted. “T'dare say they are at it still. 
Shall I go and see?” 

“ Yes ; and ask Mr. St. John to stay tea if he has time. 
He will be interested to hear about Phyllis.” 

“ He does not know her, does he?” asked Beryl, as Ted 
bounded off on his errand. 

“ Not that I am aware of ; but he is always interested in 
anything that concerns the Tempests.” 

“I like Mervyn,” said Beryl, with a saucy gleam in hei 
eyes. “ You don’t think I’ve got too old to call him Mer- 
vyn, do you, Mtttterchen? I always used to in London, 
when I was a little girl.” 

“ Mr. St. John has always been very kind to my little 
girl, but I think it is time to grow out of baby ways and 
words, especially as his position is difficult and peculiar, and 
he has so kindly undertaken to teach your brothers. But 
you shall judge for yourself, my dear.” 

Beryl laughed, and came and put her arm about her 
mother’s neck. 

“ You always know how to get over your naughty, spoilt 
child, don’t you, mother? But indeed I am growing very 
grown-up and proper.” 

“ Quite overwhelmingly so,” remarked Cecil, in an audible 
aside. 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Tempest, rising, “ anybody who wants 
tea had better come with me. Ursula, my love, is it not 
time you put your books away? Y"ou must not overdo your- 
self with study because you are freed from control.” 

Ursula looked up with a smile, the absorbed look passing 
from her face. She closed her books promptly, if a little 
reluctantly, and rose to follow her mother. 

“ Let us have some tea then by all means,” she said, “ and 


AT THE WARRENS. 


45 


hear if Mr. St. John brings any news from the Cedars. I 
wonder how soon the new Mrs. Reginald Tempest is to be 
expected ? ” 

“ Mervyn will know as soon as any one else,” was Beryl’s 
remark, as she led the way from the room. 

Mervyn St. John, as Mrs. Tempest had hintecf, occupied 
at this time a peculiar and rather difficult position. For 
many generations the St. Johns had owned a small property 
bordering upon that of the Tempests, generally known as 
Chandos Lodge, and the two families had been close friends 
for years, perhaps for centuries. Mervvn’s father, who had 
died some five years before, had left three children, one son 
and two daughters, Nina and Clare, the former of whom was 
the wife of a medical man of ample fortune and scientific 
turn, by name Gerald Colquhoun. 

Old Hubert St. John looked upon young Colquhoun almost 
as a son, gave him an ample allowance, and encouraged him 
to spend as much time as possible at the house that would 
one day be his. Mr. Hubert St. John was believed, and 
believed himself, to be a very wealthy man, and therefore 
when he died it caused no surprise that his property was 
divided between his two daughters, Chandos Lodge being 
left to Nina Colquhoun and an ample dowry to Clare. 

Things went perfectly smoothly for a while. Mr. and 
Mrs. Colquhoun took up their abode at the Lodge, the doctor 
only practising for his own pleasure, whilst his local coadju- 
tor pocketed the fees, Clare living with them, and Mervyn 
always a welcome guest when his father could spare him. 
All went well and prosperously until the sudden death of Mr. 
Hubert St. John, some two years previous to the time under 
discussion, when it was discovered that he had for years 
been living beyond his income, had been lavishly extrava- 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


46 

gant, hopelessly careless, and had left his property so deeply 
involved in debt that only five years of rigid economy would 
suffice to put matters anything like smooth again. 

Mervyn St. John was a young man who liked to take his 
ease in all things. He was very tall, very good-looking, very 
lazy, and had hitherto dawdled through life in pleasant, 
gentleman-like ease, enjoying himself in a quiet, do-nothing 
way, making himself generally popular by a sort of innate 
kindliness and courtesy, but not inspiring his friends with 
the idea that any great capabilities lay beneath this lazy 
exterior. 

At the time, however, of Mr. St. John’s death Mervyn, as 
people were fond of saying, “ came out in a new light.” He 
grappled with the intricacies and difficulties of the situation 
with a good deal of clearness and acumen ; and he soon 
came to a very resolute determination as to what he meant 
to do. 

For five years, he decided, he should not draw a penny of 
the income accruing to him ; all should go to the liquidation 
of debts and the unburdening of the property ; the house was 
let on a five years’ lease, and Mervyn declined to use the 
title until the expiration of the years of probation. 

His position, however, was difficult. He no longer re- 
ceived the ample allowance his father had bestowed upon 
him, and, save for about a hundred a year left him by his 
mother, he had nothing to call his own. His home, too, was 
for the present closed against him and in the hands of 
strangers, and altogether his affairs placed him in something 
of an awkward predicament. 

It is true that Gerald and Nina Colquhoun were urgent 
for him to make a home with them as long as his own was 
his only in name, and both sisters were eager to share with 


AT THE WARRENS. 


47 


him, for the present at least, the fortune that had come to 
them ; but Mervyn could not bring himself to see matters 
quite as they did, and although he spent the greater part of 
his time at Chandos Lodge, which had always seemed like 
his own home, he turned his attention somewhat seriously to 
the subject of finding some remunerative employment that 
should make him feel less straitened in circumstances during 
the next years. Before, however, anything had turned up 
for him, Mr. Tempest and his family had taken up their 
abode at the Warrens, and he had shown himself unfeignedly 
anxious to obtain Mervyn’s services as tutor for his sons. 
The salary he offered was liberal, the proximity of the War- 
rens to Chandos Cedars and Lodge formed an additional in- 
ducement, and the arrangement was speedily concluded, to 
the satisfaction of all parties. 

Mervyn had known Arthur Tempest’s family more or less 
intimately for years. He had visited them from time to 
time in their London home, and had been amused and at- 
tracted by the insouciant , free-and-easy life of that large 
household of boys and girls. It was utterly different from 
anything he had known before, and had a certain charm in 
consequence. He was a great favorite there, as he was in 
most houses ; and his readiness to take in hand the three 
boys was a great relief to their parents, for it was not many 
men who would be likely to get on with such restless, eager, 
versatile, and wayward pupils ; and against the rule of an 
ordinary tutor they would, one and all, have vehemently 
rebelled. As it was, however, things went smoothly enough. 
Merv} r n was ver} T quiet, but firm enough on occasion, and it 
was no labor to teach boys who were as quick at their books 
as at their games, and, although bent on acquiring knowledge 
in their own fashion, were eager for its acquisition, and more 


48 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


inclined to lengthen than to curtail lesson hours. They had 
been a source of mingled pride and terror to their masters at 
school and college, where their education had heretofore 
been carried on, and it was obvious to all that they were not 
suited to class work ; but under a tutor who could give indi- 
vidual care to each they progressed rapidly, and delighted in 
the classic writers they had almost learnt to despise. Mer- 
vyn, with all his external laziness and nonchalance , was a 
very finished scholar, and had taken high honors at Oxford. 
He was training Lancelot for the university now, and enter- 
tained great hopes of the lad’s distinguishing himself there. 

He was on very friendly terms with the Tempests at the 
Cedars, and had always been a favorite with Gen. Tempest, 
with whose children he had grown up almost like a brother. 
The General had been somewhat annoyed at his accepting 
the office of tutor to his brother’s sons, but it was difficult 
to be angry with any one so cool and calm as Mervyn ; and 
besides, the very necessity for him to work protected him 
from overmuch criticism as to the work selected. So he was 
intimate with both families of Tempests, and a sort of uncon- 
scious medium of communication between the two houses. 

He was interested to hear of the approaching advent of 
Phyllis. He had dim recollections of Charles Tempest, who 
had gone to India when he himself was a small boy, and 
whom he had never seen since. 

“ She is to belong to us first,” said Beryl, laughing. “ I 
am so glad. She must be so sick of dull, stately, old- 
fashioned ways. It will be like a new world coming to us ; 
don’t you think so ? ” 

“Very much so, I should imagine,” answered Mervyn, 
with a smile in his sleepy gray eyes, as he glanced round 
the low-ceiled, wainscoted room, with its sombre tints and 


AT THE WARRENS. 


49 


air of somewhat careless habitation, so common in the 
abode of a large family. “ It will be a revelation to 
her.” 

“A nice one, I hope,” said Beryl ; “ better, at any rate, 
than Chandos Cedars.” 

She looked at Merry n pointedly as she spoke. As he 
made no rejoinder, she asked, quickly : — 

“Don’t you think so? ” 

“ A difficult question,” he answered, negligently. “ I am 
very fond of Chandos Cedars, Miss Beryl.” 

“You were once, perhaps,” answered the girl, sagely. 
“ It does not follow that you will be now.” 

“A new mistress may change things very much,” ex- 
plained Ursula ; and Cecil added, under his breath : — 

“ The state of the atmosphere will probably be decidedly 
overcharged with electricity.” 

“ There is something in that, to be sure,” admitted Mer- 
vyn, quietly. 

“Do you know when the General’s wife is expected?” 
asked Mrs. Tempest, with some show of interest. 

“ Very shortly, I believe. I am not certain if the day 
has been fixed.” 

“Are they not all in a great state of mind?” asked 
Beryl, quickly, — “ Montague, Kingsley, and Hilda, I mean.” 

“If they are, they keep~it to themselves,” answered Mer- 
vyn, smiling. “It is not their way to fume and fret out- 
wardly.” 

There was something in his manner of saying this that 
made Beryl toss her head, whilst she said, with her saucy 
laugh : — 

“As we should do under similar circumstances, you mean 
to say.” 


50 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ Our manners have not that ‘ repose that stamps tl 
cast of Vere de Vere,’ ” murmured Cecil. 

“ I said nothing of the sort,” was Mervyn’s response. 

“ It must be so dull to be too aristocratic to fume an 
fret and get into a nice rage and relieve one’s feelings,” crie 
Beryl, half laughing, half vexed. “Hilda always looks to 
proud to show one bit of feeling about anything.” 

Mervyn made no reply, but stroked his long fair mus 
tache, to hide perhaps the curious ironical curve that his lip 
had taken. 

“It must be convenient sometimes not to feel,” sai 
Beryl, reflectively, “ especially at a time like this.” 

“Very,” Returned Mervjm. 

“ I wonder they do not all go away,” said Ursula. “ 1 
must be so unspeakably miserable having some one comin: 
to take the mother’s place ” ; and she glanced for a momen 
at her mother with a look that said more than the words. 

“ I can’t think why they didn’t,” added Beryl. 

“It is out of the question for Kingsley,” said Mervyn 
“ he could not travel.” 

“ They did think of it, then?” 

“ Yes ; Gerald was consulted, but would not hear of i 
for a moment for Kingsley.” 

“ Kingsley does not seem to make much progress,’ 
observed Mrs. Tempest. 

Mervyn looked rather grave. 

“No, he doesn’t. Those cases are very tedious often 
and he has been thoroughly out of health since his illness 
after the wedding.” 

“ Was it going to the wedding that brought it on?” 

“ I think so, without doubt. He was not in the least fil 
to go, only just on his legs again ; but he knew Montaguf 


AT THE WARRENS. 


51 


would not go without him, and that a breach with their 
father must follow. So he went, and has had to take the 
consequences. I hope they will not make him repent his 
desire to be a peace-maker.” 

“ Did Montague know the risk when they went?” 

u Of course not. Nobody anticipated any such bad 
result, but Kingsley knew that he was barely fit, only he 
kept it from his brother, lest the knowledge should spoil 
everything. However, that is past now ; but it has taught 
them all a lesson, and Gerald will not hear of any more talk 
of moving him again. As it is, he suffers a great deal more 
than any one has an idea of. So, at least, Gerald says : he 
will not admit it himself.” 

Beryl was silent, and half wished she had not spoken so 
slightingly of her cousins just now. They all looked gravely 
compassionate. 

Mervyn rose to go, and when he had left Cecil re- 
marked : — 

“ I always told you from the first that Kingsley was the 
best of the boiling.” 


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1 1 1 ii 1 1 1 1 ;ii iih n i n 1 1 ii 1 1 iniHJumm i m im i ii 1 1 1 iimiHUiii 

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CHAPTER IV. 




FINDING A HOME. 

HYLLIS TEMPEST sat opposite to her uncle in 
the train, and gazed with wide-open gray eyes 
upon the flying landscape through which they were 
being rapidly whirled. She felt a good deal 'bewildered by 
all the changes of the past weeks ; and change was more be- 
wildering to Phyllis than it would be to most girls of her age. 

She had lived for the past twelve years a life of peculiar 
monotony ; the only changes she had known being a remove 
from a dull London house to one almost equally dull at 
Brighton, and back again ; and, save for these two places, 
she knew nothing whatever of her native land. She had 
been brought up without any young companions, she had 
never been into general society, and, save for admission of 
late years to her great- aunts’ daily dinner, and helping them to 
entertain at intervals their very select and ancient friends, she 
had seen nothing of life, and was as averse to what she termed 
“ company” as the cousins who were about to receive her. 

She was fond of the pug-dog and the poodle, and liked 
to try and teach the parrot to talk. She had a passion for 
music, and was no mean proficient at the piano-forte, whilst 
her voice was one of her greatest charms ; but she had not 
learned the least love of display, and was inclined to dis- 
trust her powers, and to be diffident about them. 

[ 52 ] 


FINDING A HOME. 53 

Phyllis was < very . jpretty, with a dainty, feminine pret- 
tiness about her, best described, perhaps, by the word 
“ charming.” She had an abundance of soft curly hair of a 
ruddy gold color, big, ‘dark-gray eyes, well opened and 
full of frank, childlike candor, a very clear, shell-like com- 
plexion, and delicate features of a slightly retrousse charac- 
ter. The mouth was gravely sweet, and full of possibilities, 
as indeed was the whole face ; the chin was well moulded, 
and expressive of the resolution that seemed an attribute of 
all who bore her name. She was not tall, hut slight and 
graceful, upright as a dart, and fleet-footed as a deer. She 
had lived heretofore in a world of her own making, more 
real to her often than that inhabited by the aged aunts and 
their equally aged attendants ; but she was conscious now 
that the old dreamy existence was passing away, that very 
soon a new world would open around her, and she thought it 
would at least be very interesting as a study, whether or not 
it proved as congenial as she hoped. 

Her uncle read the paper for some time ; but as hours and 
miles flew by he laid it aside, and looked at his quiet little 
companion with a smile. 

“ Tired of the train, Phyllis? ” 

“No, uncle, not at all ; I love seeing pretty country, and 
it is getting more lovely every minute. How soon shall we 
be there ? ” 

Mr. Tempest looked at his watch. 

“ At the station in about half an hour, and then we have 
five miles to drive.” 

“ How nice ! I do love driving — at least when it is n’t 
in a stuffy brougham with all the windows up. Will any of 
them come to meet us? ” 

u That remains to be prpved ; but I think it highly prob- 


54 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


able. You have a great many cousins to make friends with, 
Phyllis.” 

“ Yes, is n’t it funny ? And I don’t even know their names 
properly yet. Aunt Sara and Aunt' Martha never spoke to 
me about them. I hardly knew they existed. Now let me 
see if I can say them off right. There was Kenrick, who 
saw us off to-day ; and then at this end there will be Ursula 
.and Beryl — that is right, is it not? — and the three boys, 
Lancelot, Ted, and Cecil. Have n’t I learned my lesson 
well?” 

“ Very well indeed. Are you equally well up in the other 
cousins at Chandos Cedars ? ” 

Phyllis made a little moue. 

“ Gen. Tempest’s children? Uncle Reginald, I suppose I 
ought to call him ; but you know, uncle, I did not like him 
half as well as I like you : he was so very upright and 
stately. He is very handsome, I think ; but I do not seem 
as though I ever could feel one bit at home with him.” 

Mr. Tempest was amused but not displeased by this 
candidly expressed partiality. There was something win- 
ning in Phyllis’s frank gray eyes and childlike smile. It 
was pleasant to think that he was liked at once by this little 
niece of his. 

“Well, well, like me as much as you will, Phyllis, the 
more the better; but you must not take a dislike to your 
other cousins, or they will think we have tried to prejudice 
you.” 

Phyllis looked at him half shyly, half archly. 

“ Don’t you like them then, Uncle Arthur? ” 

He laughed at her quickness. 

“You must n’t be so dreadfully sharp, little girl. I did 
not mean to imply that at all. I know very little of my 


FINDING A HOME. 


55 


nephews and niece at the Cedars. You know I am a new- 
comer here. I lived in London till a year ago.” 

Phyllis did not say any more, but she looked as if she 
had opinions of her own upon the matter. She was shrewd 
and observant enough, and had picked up a good deal of 
information from chance words she had heard dropped by 
one and another during the past days. Her attention, how- 
ever, was a good deal taken up by thoughts of the approach- 
ing meeting with her new relatives, and as the train began to 
slacken speed she looked excited and felt a little nervous. 

She and her companion had only just descended from the 
carriage, when, with a sort of shriek of delight, a girl, who 
had watched the drawing up of the train, sprang at Mr. 
Tempest and embraced him with effusion. 

Phyllis looked on at this effusive greeting half amused 
and a good deal surprised. She had not been used to any 
display of warm feeling, and could not quite understand 
such open demonstration in so public a place. 

Mr. Tempest freed himself with a smile from his impul- 
sive daughter’s embrace. 

“Well, Beryl, my dear, don’t smother me quite. Here 
is Phyllis waiting for a welcome.” 

The brown eyes looked for a moment into the gray ones, 
and then Beryl took both her cousin’s hands and kissed her 
on either cheek. 

“I am so glad you have come,” she said, with pleasant 
warmth. “ You are to be a new sister, you know. Now 
come and let me take you to mother.” 

“Your mother is here?” questioned Mr. Tempest. 

“Yes, in the phaeton ; and the garden boy has brought 
the spring-cart for the luggage. They are both outside. 
Do come ! Mother wants you both so much.” 


56 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


So Beryl hurried her father and cousin along as soon as 
the luggage had been claimed ; and Phyllis looked with 
wonder and admiration at the wild sweep of moorland and 
wooded country that burst upon her delighted gaze as soon 
as she had emerged from the station buildings. But she 
was not allowed more than a passing glance before she was 
led up to the side of an open carriage, in which a gentle- 
faced lady sat with the reins in her hands, and Beryl said, 
with a sort of triumph in her tone, “ Phyllis, this is mother.” 

There was a sort of revelation of something altogether 
new and sweet and strange in the kiss and the smile and the 
gentle words that followed this introduction. Phyllis had 
never thought of herself as motherless before, but she sud- 
denly felt that there had been all this time a want in her 
life of which she had been quite unconscious. She felt a 
moisture in her eyes as she looked into the sweet face bent 
upon her, and her lips trembled a little as she pressed them 
against those of her aunt, whom, in her heart, she was 
already eager to call “ mother.” 

“We are very glad to welcome you, dear child. We 
hope and trust to make you happy amongst us.” 

“Iam sure I shall be happy,” answered Phyllis, earnestly. 
“ Oh, quite sure ! ” 

“ Of course you will,” cried Beryl, with her merry laugh. 
“Every one is happy at the Warrens. Come, Phyllis, you 
and I will sit together here, and father and mother in front. 
— I drove mother down, father. Am I not getting accom- 
plished?” 

So, under cover of Beryl’s chatter, the party got off, and 
Phyllis looked about her in increasing admiration of the 
beautiful scenes through which they began to pass. She 
had never seen anything like it in her life. The air was so 


FINDING A HOME. 


57 


keen and clear and exhilarating, it excited her even to feel 
it blowing against her face. The sky looked like a great 
dome of steely-blue arching overhead, and all round lay 
billowy sweeps of moorland, growing golden with the gorse 
blossom, that* shone with a peculiar glory in the rays of the 
westering sun. 

“ Is n’t it lovely? ” breathed Phyllis, softly. 

“ Yes, is n’t it? and it ’s lovelier still where we live — in a 
little hollow with plenty of great trees. The sea is over 
there ; you will get a glimpse of it here and there. We are 
about two miles away. Chandos Cedars is quite close to the 
coast. The grounds go down to the beach, and they have 
an inlet with a lovely bathing and boat house ; but of course 
it’s no good to us. We are learning to swim, Ursula and I. 
The boys are teaching us. Can you swim? Oh, no, of 
course not! You were brought up by your aunts, who 
would think such a thing dreadful, I suppose.” 

Phyllis laughed a little. 

“I don’t think it ever entered my head; but I don’t 
suppose they would have let me. I used to be sent to bathe 
at Brighton, but was only allowed to ‘ take three dips and 
then come in.’ It was very nice, though, only I always 
wanted to stay in longer.” 

“ Why did n’t you, then ? ” 

u Because I was told not.” 

“ Do you always do as you are told?” asked Beryl, with 
her saucy look. 

Phyllis looked at her cousin gravely at first, her lips 
curving slowly into a smile. 

“ Not always, but I think I do generally.” 

“Ah,” answered Beryl, reflectively, “ I suppose it is no 
fun being naughty alone,” 


58 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Phyllis’s attention was distracted for the moment by the 
approach of a lady and gentleman on horseback. They had 
been galloping over the moor, and had just reached the road 
as the carriage passed them. The lady bowed slightly, and 
her companion raised his hat. 

“Who are they?” asked Phyllis, with interest. “ What 
lovely horses ! ” 

“Montague and Hilda Tempest,” answered Beryl, with 
something incisive in her voice. “The Tempests of the 
Cedars, you know.” 

“Are they my cousins?” asked Phyllis, turning to look 
after them with interest. “Why did they not stop and 
speak to us ? ” 

“It is not our way to stop and speak,” answered Beryl, 
in the same tone of voice as before. “We are much too 
grand and aristocratic for that; we only bow and pass on.” 

4 4 What a beautiful figure she has ! and how gracefully 
she sits her horse ! I do like to see good riding. I think 
they were both very handsome, were they not?” 

“Oh, they are good-looking enough, I admit,” answered 
Beryl, carelessly. “ Only I always think that 4 handsome is 
that handsome does*’ ” 

“ Do they act unhandsomely?” asked Phyllis. 

. Beryl saw by the slight turn of her mother’s head that 
she had heard, and did not altogether approve her daughter’s 
manner of speaking. 

“ Oh, never mind them,” she answered, quickly. “ You 
will be able to judge for yourself one of these days. I 
don’t profess to know them. That is the Cedars down 
there amongst the trees near to the sea. It is a lovely old 
Elizabethan house, but you don’t get much of a view of it 
from here : it is so shut in by its own grounds. It is a pity 


FINDING A HOME. 


59 


we do not have the run of the place, as we ought to have. 
It would be so jolly ! ” 

4 4 What is your house like?” asked Phyllis, as a turn in 
the road shut out the distant glimpse of Chandos Cedars. 

44 Oh, the dearest, most delightful farm-house in the 
world!” cried Beryl, with enthusiasm. 44 Worth all the 
Cedars and grand places in the county put together.” 

44 A farm-house ! ” cried Phyllis. 44 Oh, how delightful ! 
I never saw the inside of a farm in my life. Do you keep 
cows and pigs and chickens ? ” 

4 4 To be sure we do. I take care of the chickens myself, 
and do everything — except ordering them for dinner. I 
draw the line there. Yes, you will like our farm, I know. 
We have such a delightful kitchen all to ourselves for our 
study — Ursula and I ; you will share it, of course. We do 
lots of work every day. I hope you like books and things. 
I think we never worked so well as we have done since we 
came here.” 

44 And have a kitchen ! ” added Phyllis, the light dancing 
in her eyes. 

44 Yes ; you can’t think what a luxury it is to have plenty 
of space, a big dresser for books, and cupboards every- 
where, no noise except of our own or the boys’ making, and 
a fine old orchard outside, and trees that will be lovely for 
sitting in when the summer comes. I mean to write a book 
some day. Ursula is going to write an epic poem ; I shall 
go in for romance, and you must find out your line. We 
will have the most first-rate times together — we and the 
boys — you shall see.” 

Phyllis’s eyes were very bright. 

44 It is like things one reads of in books,” she said, 44 but 
I never believed real people and places could be a bit like it.” 


60 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ There is our home ! ” cried Beryl, a few moments later, 
as a turn in the road brought them to the top of a moorland 
ridge, and gave them a view of a wooded hollow, in which 
stood a long, low stone house, with farm buildings behind. 
It looked peculiarly lonely, peaceful, and picturesque — the 
sort of home that an imaginative young girl was likely to 
fancy free from every worldly care or unworthy thought, full 
of rest and peace and harmony. 

Phyllis did not speak as the carriage descended the ridge 
and passed under the overarching boughs of the great leafless 
trees. She gazed about her mutely, a little flush upon her 
face, an increasing brightness in her eyes. 

At length the carriage drew up before an open door which 
led into a square-flagged hall or entry. 

But it was not the house that now attracted Phyllis’s 
notice, but a tall, grave-faced girl who stood in the doorway, 
and who greeted the new cousin with a very pleasant smile, 
that seemed to come straight from her heart. A bright- 
eyed, curly-headed boy had sprung to the horses’ heads as 
the phaeton drew up, and a younger boy leaned against a 
tree a little in the background, his small gray eyes twinkling 
shrewdly and observantly. 

Phyllis found the introduction to her cousins very easy 
and pleasant. Ursula kissed her, and spoke a few words 
of welcome that were evidently perfectly sincere. The bo*vs 
shook hands with frank friendliness. Lancelot came out in 
a paint-stained coat, with palette and brushes in hand, and 
offered to paint Phyllis’s portrait on the spot ; and there was 
so much laughing and talking and merry banter always going 
on between the brothers and sisters that Phyllis could not 
help feeling encircled by the warm atmosphere peculiar to 
a loving household, 


FINDING A HOME. 


61 


Then she had to be taken upstairs to see her bedroom — 
such funny winding stairs and passages, and such a queer 
room when it was reached ! Phyllis was enchanted by every- 
thing — the little dormer-windows, the ceiling that slanted 
at one side, the odd recess beside the fireplace, and the curi- 
ous triangular cupboard in the corner. Everything too was 
so spotlessly clean, so sweet with the undefined scent that 
belongs to the country, that she did not know how to wonder 
or admire enough. 

“ Why do people live in London or Brighton, when there 
are places like this to come to?” she said. 

Ursula smiled in her grave way. 

“ I like London very much,” she said ; “ one meets peo- 
ple there that one cannot see anywhere else — thinking men 
and women who give you new ideas every time you speak 
with them. I am glad of quiet now : I was getting confused 
with so many theories. I want time to arrange and adjust 
them ; but after that I should like to go back and see what 
the great world is doing, and what new wave of thought is 
passing over it.” 

Phyllis looked at Ursula with a respect not unmixed with 
awe. It seemed strange and wonderful to hear such words 
from the lips of a girl only a year older than herself. She 
was not troubled with any such aspirations. Life seemed to 
heK too big and strange a thing to think seriously about yet. 
She preferred to glide along its smooth current, taking things 
as they came, and not making any personal effort to sound 
the shoals or quicksands around. Phyllis was as yet a child, 
Ursula was rapidly growing into a woman. 

The girl’s boxes were brought up, and Beryl assisted her 
to unpack them. Ursula undertook to arrange the books on 
the shelves upon the wall, and she looked with interest 


62 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


but not entire approval at the titles as she proceeded with 
her task. 

“ Rather juvenile literature, Phyllis,” she said, by and by, 
with her pleasant smile. 

“I suppose so,” answered Phyllis. “My aunts would 
let me read so very few books. They thought almost every- 
tAbg ‘ dangerous ’ or ‘ undesirable for youth.’ I don’t know 
quite what t&y meant.” 

Ursula smiled rather pityipgly.. 

“ Poor Phyllis ! ” she said ; “ how dull it must have been ! 
But we will make up for that now.” 

Beryl was unpacking the clothes, and examining the 
dresses with girlish interest. All were black, of course, 
trimmed with crape and jet ; but her cousin’s wardrobe was 
a very handsome one, and Beryl was astonished at the 
number of the dresses that emerged from the great basket 
trunk. 

“I don’t know how you will wear out your evening 
dresses,” said Beryl: “we never go anywhere here.” 

“They are only every-day dresses,” answered Phyllis. 
“ I did. not have any made for parties, as I was in mourning.” 

Beryl’s face lighted with amusement. 

“You need not dress up here,” she answered. “ We 
don’t have’ a tiresome, stiff, late dinner. We have a nice 
farm-house tea, — you will see very soon, — and we just wash 
our hands and brush our hair, and afterwards we wander 
about the garden in the moonlight and do exactly what we 
like.” 

Phyllis clapped her hands. in childish glee. 

“ No late dinner ! Oh, how delightful ! And a moon- 
light stroll afterwards in the garden! What a nice, nice 
house to live in ! Why does n’t every one live at a farm ? ” 


FINDING A HOME. 


63 


“ Tastes .differ, you know,” said Ursula, closing a book 
into which she had been dipping. 44 This life some people 
would call simply detestable. It would not suit every 
one.” 

It suited Phyllis, "at any rate. She raced after Beryl over 
the quaint old house and through the winding garden paths 
with unfeigned delight and wonder. She felt at home 
everybody and everything all in a moment. She laughed at 
Ted’s gymnastic feats among the orchard trees, laughed at 
Cecil’s dry speeches and at Lancelot’s lazy retorts, fell into 
easy cousinly terms at once with all, found in Mrs. Tempest 
the very ideal of a mother, and liked her uncle even better 
in his own house than she had done in that of her great- 
aunts. 

The informal dinner-tea, to which Ursula brought her 
book, and during which Lancelot drew little caricatures of 
everybody at table, seemed to her the most delightful of 
institutions. She was like a winged creature who had been 
caged and fettered for weeks and months, and was now 
tasting liberty for the first time. The big gray eyes were 
full of light, the lips laughed, and dimples showed themselves 
in chin and cheek. It was pleasant even to watch her pleas- 
ure, very pleasant to see how completely she had taken to 
the home. Every one liked Phyllis from the first, and cer- 
tainly she liked every one. 

When she wished her aunt good night, after a moonlight 
ramble about the gardens and moors, which had at last made 
her both tired and sleepy despite her excitement, she clasped 
her arms very tightly about her neck, and said with a sort of 
timid, loving diffidence : — 

44 It was so good of you to have me. I shall be so happy 
here.” 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ I trust you will, my love,” answered Mrs. Tempest, 
gently, stroking the girl's curly head. “We will all do our 
best to make you so.” 

“You are so good,” said Phyllis, putting up her mouth . 
for another kiss. “Will you let me be another ‘little 
daughter/ or have you too many already?” 

“ Never too many to love, little one. Yes, you shall be 
our very own as long as you wish it.” 

“ That will be always,” answered Phyllis, very earnestly. 




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CHAPTER V. 

SUNDAY. 

W HEN Phyllis awoke nest morning she' was 
puzzled for a moment to think where she 
was ; but the fresh, spotless whiteness of all 
about her, and the far-away sounds of animal life from the 
farm-yard beyond, quickly awoke in her recollections of 
yesterday, and she sprang up, delighted to think of renewing 
the joys of last evening and of improving acquaintance with 
the cousins she had so much liked. 

It was a bright, sunny Sunday morning, the sort of morn- 
ing that brings with it a sound of bells in the air, when the 
larks sing their loudest, and the buds seem to swell upon the 
trees. 

Phyllis’s associations with Sunday were not, so far, very 
pleasant ones. It ha^feal^iys been a dull day for her, a day 
when she could not go out, save to the church, that was barely 
three minutes’ walk from the house, when she was not 
allowed to touch the piano, when only very dry books were 
given her to read, and when anything like a little play with 
the dogs or the birds was frowned down instantly. 

Phyllis had always tried hard to “be good,” as it was 
phrased, to take an interest in the characters whose biogra- 
phies she was exhorted to peruse, and to determine from 
time to time to try and emulate them in their good works 
5 [ 65 ] 



JOINT GUARDIANS. 


* 

G6 

1 

aqd righteous words ; but she had never felt her efforts in 
this direction to be at all successful. Her aunts declined to 
allow her to visit the poor, lest she should catch a fever, or 
hear words that were not fit for her ears ; she was not 
allowed to give away money, because inexperience always 
encouraged deception and pauperization ; she could not spend 
much time upon her knees, for she did not feel she had any- 
thing particular to pray about ; and devotional books, save 
in very exceptional moods, quickly wearied her. She had 
come at last to the conclusion that it was not her vocation to 
be religious, save in an easy, conventional fashion ; and, 
although a girl of high principle and lofty ideals, she had 
never made much progress towards the attainment of aspira- 
tions. 

As she dressed herself that morning she wondered what 
sort of Sundays she should spend at this new home, what 
ideas her cousins held upon religious subjects, or if they were 
indifferent and free-thinking, as she knew that some people 
were. Phyllis was eager and curious over everything and 
everybody in this new life. She felt like a traveller in an 
unknown land : anxious to observe every landmark and learn 
everything that was to be known. 

When she left her room she found that her cousins’ doors 
were open and their rooms empty, so she found her way down 
to the great flagged kitchen she had been introduced to last 
night, and there, sure enough, were Ursula and Beryl, seated 
side by side in the wide sunny window-seat, each with a book 
on her knee. 

“Oh, here is Phyllis ! ” cried Beryl ; but she did not spring 
up to meet her, and Ursula said, with a smile of welcome, 
“We are reading our chapter together — we always do on 
Sunday mornings ; will you join us? what language will you 
have ? 99 


SUNDAY. 


67 


And Phyllis, glancing downwards, saw that Ursula’s 
Bible was Greek, and Beryl’s Latin. She colored a little as 
she answered, “I only know French and a little German,” 

Beryl got her a German Bible in a moment, and she sat 
down beside the sisters. Ursula translated her Greek more 
readily than Phyllis did her German, but she liked the talk 
that passed between the sisters as to the little differences in 
rendering between the versions, and the fine shades of mean- 
ing indicated by the various words. She had nothing to say 
upon the subject; it was all too new and strange, but it 
opened out to her a new kind of education, and one of which 
she had never dreamed before, a love of study for study’s 
sake, and a thirst for knowledge quite distinct from any- 
thing else she had seen before. 

The sisters’ talk over their chapter was, however, entirely 
confined to technicalities and the meaning of words ; they 
did not touch at all upon the lessons inculcated or the spirit- 
ual side of the question ; and for this Phyllis was rather 
glad, as she might have felt a little embarrassed at any dis- 
cussions of a theological kind. 

Mr. Tempest said prayers in the dining-room, and then 
they all sat down to breakfast, which was as merry a meal as 
the last night’s supper had been. 

“ Can you walk to church, Phyllis?” asked Ted. “It’s 
two miles if it ’s a step.” 

“ I think I could walk ten miles in this lovely air ! ” cried 
Phyllis, with brightening eyes. “ I don’t feel as if I should 
ever be tired here.” 

They all smiled at that. 

“ That’s right, Phyllis!” said Ted, with approbation. 
“That’s the kind of spirit I like to see in a fellow.” 

And Phyllis looked at him with brightening eyes and 


68 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


laughed, wondering what her great-aunts would think of 
her present surroundings and the easy ways of her cousins. 

But she was very happy. The walk to church over the 
moors was delightful. The boys were very talkative and 
very amusing. Phyllis was sure that they all liked her, and 
that assurance made her feel happy and at ease. She felt 
a sense of new and wonderful freedom that was like nothing 
she had experienced before. The world looked large and 
sunny, and the sense of brightness and expansion was a little 
intoxicating. 

She admired everything she saw along the road, and with 
the dark old church, with its massive pillars, black oak carv- 
ing, and dim stained windows, she was enchanted ; she had 
never seen anything like it before. 

She looked with interest at the faces round her. For 
the most part they were homely, rustic faces belonging to 
farmers and their laborers ; but there were a few of another 
type, and it was these that most attracted the girl’s atten- 
tion. 

She soon found out Hilda and Montague Tempest, and 
was a good deal struck by the statuesque beauty of the 
former. There was an inexplicable sadness in the pale, 
proud face that she could not understand, and the glance 
of the luminous dark eyes haunted her oddly. She could 
not help wondering about this unknown cousin of hers — 
what her past life had been, whether she would prove as 
unapproachable as she looked, and if they would ever be 
friends, or always remain on cool and distant terms. 

There was another line of faces that interested her also. 
Beryl whispered to her that they were the Colquhouns and 
St. Johns ; that the tall man with the long mustache was 
her brothers’ tutor, and the two ladies were his sisters. The 


SUNDAY. 


69 


younger of these was exceedingly pretty, with fair hair and 
very sweet eyes ; she exchanged smiles with Beryl once, and 
her face lighted up wonderfully. Mr. and Mrs. Colquhoun 
looked very pleasant, and they had two handsome little boys 
with them. 

As they left the church they found themselves close to 
their cousins from the Cedars. Hilda turned and spoke a 
few words of courteous greeting to Ursula and Beryl, and 
then holding out her hand to Phyllis with a grave smile, she 
said : — 

“ You are my new cousin, Phyllis. I shall hope to call 
upon you soon/’ 

And then she stepped into the carriage that was waiting, 
Montague followed, just lifting his hat as he turned away, 
and the horses quickly carried them out of sight. 

Phyllis looked after them with interest ; but she was 
called upon to be introduced to Clare and Mervyn St. John. 
That ceremony disposed of, as well as a little subsequent 
talk, the groups separated, and the party from the War- 
rens commenced their homeward walk across the moors, 
in the wake of Mr. and Mrs. Tempest, who had started 
before. 

“ How condescending Hilda was to-day ! ” quoth Ted. 
u Phyllis, you ought to feel flattered.” 

“ I like her face, I think,” said Phyllis. “Why does she 
look so sad ? ” 

“Sadi” repeated Ted, laughing. “She doesn’t; it’s 
only haughtiness and pride. She ’s like a statue — ■ and one, 
moreover, that never would come to life.” 

“ It always seems to me,” remarked Ursula, “ that peo- 
ple who live in a narrow world of their own, like those 
Tempests, give undue prominence to any little trouble that 


70 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


comes upon them. They have nothing to take them out of 
themselves, and their minds prey upon comparative trifles. 
Hilda has never had anything to try her ; she has always 
lived in the lap of luxury ; so that when a difficulty comes, 
like illness or anything, she has no moral stamina to stand 
against it, and gives way to unreasonable depression.” 

“ Has she been ill?” asked Phyllis. 

* “ No, but Kingsley has, the other brother. I suppose it 
has been a trouble to her.” 

“ She had a 4 disappointment 9 too, don’t you remember?” 
added Cecil. 44 Her young man got killed out in India, or 
something.” 

Phyllis looked sympathetic ; but love troubles did not 
appeal to Ursula. 

44 It seems to me that a woman ought to have strength of 
character to conquer her fate and live her life alone. I have 
very little patience with people whose ^hearts are broken 
and lives blighted because a lover dies. There is too much 
work to be done in the world for time to be wasted in vain 
regrets.” 

“Iam always sorry for people when they lose those 
whom they love,” said Phyllis^ softly. 

Ursula glanced at her quickly, as if half afraid she had 
seemed unfeeling, and Lancelot said, in his lazy way : — 

“We should be sorry for anybod}' else, }’ou know ; but 
our grand relations up at the Cedars are beyond the pale of 
common humanity.” 

Ursula flushed a little, Beryl laughed, whilst Phyllis looked 
straight at Lancelot and asked : — 

“ I wish you would tell me wh}^ you all dislike our cousins 
so much.” 

Ursula’s color rose still higher, and Lancelot flashed an 


SUNDAY. 


71 


amused look at her from under his heavy eyelids. Beryl 
laughed with a sort of defiance, and it was Cecil who 
answered the question. 

“We dislike them because we despise them,” he said, 
oracularly, “ and we despise them because they despise us, 
so that is all fair enough.” 

“ Why do they despise you? ” asked Phyllis, wonderingly. 

Cecil pursed up his mouth and looked unutterable things, 
whilst Beryl tossed her head and muttered, “ Ah ! why 
indeed?” and Ursula said, with unusual heat and rapidity : — 

“ They despise our sweet mother. They do not consider 
her good enough for them ; when our father could not stand 
the narrow routine of their little pent-in life at the Cedars, 
and felt that he must see the world for himself, and judge 
of men and things by a standard of his own, he gave huge 
offence at home, and when he married they cut him off entirely. 
He was an outcast from that day. As if one of those stuck- 
up, narrow-minded, purse-proud aristocrats was worthy to be 
named in the same day as our mother ! ” 

Phyllis felt puzzled. 

“ Why did they not like her? Did they see her? ” 

“ No, indeed, they would not dream of such a thing. 
She was of a different world from theirs ; they would have 
scorned to own her.” 

“ But why?” 

“ Why ? Because her father had been an actor once. Be- 
cause he wrote p^ays, and there was some talk of our mother, 
who was as talented as she was beautiful, going on to the 
stage. Her marriage put an end to all that ; she had never 
wished it for herself ; but to the Tempests at the Cedars it 
was all one. A son of the house had contaminated himself, 
disgraced himself by such an alliance. He was cast off, and 


72 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


the only wonder is that they have condescended to take the 
least notice of us since we have been settled at the Warrens.” 

“ But they have done that? ” 

“After a fashion. I suppose they could hardly help 
themselves, when other people noticed us, and did not find 
us so utterly beneath contempt. But we see almost nothing 
of them. There is always some convenient excuse or other. 
First it was Kingsley, now I suppose it will be the new 
mistress.” 

“ What do you mean about Kingsley? Is he the one that 
has been ill ? ” 

“Yes, worse luck,” put in Ted, “ for he was much the 
best of them all, quite kind and jolly. Only, at the tenants’ 
cricket match last summer some stupid boor threw a tremen- 
dously swift ball when no play was going on, and Kingsley 
was not looking, and it caught him right on the knee. He 
pretended it was nothing at the time, though he looked aw- 
fully white, and could n ’t play any more ; and very soon we 
heard he was very bad, and might have to lose his leg. He 
was four months on his back, and we never saw anybody 
from the Cedars. We weren’t intilnate enough to go there 
when there was illness, and of course they did n’t care to 
come and see us. Then the General went and got married, 
and going to the wedding made Kingsley as bad as ever — 
every one thought he was going to die. I believe he is up 
and about again now, but he has not been seen anywhere 
yet. I wish he would appear. It’s not half so stiff and 
formal when he comes to the fore.” 

“ How hard it must be to be ill so long, especially for a 
man ! ” said Phyllis, compassionately. . 

Ursula’s lip curved in her peculiar smile, half scornful, 
half reflective. 


SUNDAY. 


73 


“ I suppose so, yes ; but you know it never seems to me 
that people like those Tempests at the Cedars feel things as 
we do. They seem above being disturbed by trivial circum- 
stances, they take everything in the same lofty, self-pos- 
sessed way, and don’t feel much about anything. They are 
half fossilized, I do believe, by their narrow, stately sort of 
life. They never do anything with their time, so far as one 
can make out, only ride and drive about, pay calls, and do 
their duty by the county society of the neighborhood. I 
never fancy that it can be half the trial to one of that class 
to be laid aside for a time as it would to us. They have 
been brought up to take things so calmly that nothing seems 
to matter much one way or another.” 

Phyllis turned this argument over in her mind, whilst 
Beryl said, laughingly : — 

“I’ve no patience with cut-and-dried people like that. 
Even now, when he’s still half an invalid, he ’ll not even go 
in to dinner with his brother and sister unless he can strug- 
gle into his evening clothes ! I got that out of Mervyn the 
other day. If he can’t dress, he dines alone in his room. 
Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous ? I don’t believe 
people brought up like that feel as if they can eat their din- 
ners in morning dress ! ” 

To Phyllis, who had herself been brought up to strict 
observance of recognized forms, this did not sound so ab- 
surd as it did to her companions. 

“I was never allowed to dine without dressing,” she said, 
rather doubtfully. “ My aunts used to say that if people 
were not well enough to dress, they were not well enough to 
come to table. Perhaps that is what Kingsley feels.” 

“Perhaps,” answered Ursula, lifting her head with a 
gesture expressive of disdainful indifference. “ I do not 


74 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


profess to understand the feelings of these cousins of 
ours.” 

Lancelot laughed a little as he glanced into his sister’s 
face. 

“These cousins of ours, whom we so despise for their 
pride,” he added. “ Take care, Ursula : you are in danger 
of beating them on their own ground. I never saw Hilda 
look quite so proud or scornful as you do now ; people who 
live in glass houses, you know, must n’t throw stones.” 

Ursula’s face relaxed into a smile. She was rarely if 
ever annoyed at any banter from her brothers. She took it 
all in excellent part — too large-hearted to be quarrelsome, 
too just to resent seeing the argument turned against 
her. 

“Perhaps not, Lance,” she answered; “yet it isn’t so 
much the pride that I dislike as the littleness of it.” 

“And then we come to want a definition of terms. What 
is little pride, and in what does the littleness consist?” 

Ursula smiled thoughtfully, and Beryl broke in, coming to 
her sister’s aid : — 

“ Pride of riches, for one thing: that is what I despise 
them most for.” 

“ And quite unjustly,” answered Lancelot, quietly. “ I 
am positive there is nothing of that sort about our cousins. 
Wealth is with them too much a matter of course.” 

“ Pride of race, then,” added Beryl. “ Like the descend- 
ants of the geese who saved Rome.” 

And then followed one of those wordy battles and sharp 
encounters of wits, common enough in this family, to which 
Phyllis listened with amusement and surprise, wondering 
whether the time would ever come when she should be able 
to hold her own in a wordy warfare of the kind. 


SUNDAY. 


75 


It seemed to Phyllis rather a curious sort of Sunday alto- 
gether. After the early dinner the boys went a long walk 
over the moors. Beryl wrote letters in the flagged kitchen, 
and Ursula pored over an edition of the Fathers in the 
original. Phyllis did not find it dull, as in old times, but 
somehow it did not feel to her quite like Sunday. She could 
not find a book altogether to her mind, and presently she left 
her cousins and wandered about the queer old house by her- 
self, peeping into open rooms and half losing herself amongst 
the odd winding passages and complicated arrangement of 
attics. 

By and by, as she was passing a door upon the first floor 
that stood just ajar she heard a voice ask gently : — 

“ Who is there? ” 

She paused, and then pushed the door open, and found 
herself in a pretty little octagon chamber, daintily furnished 
as a sort of boudoir, with an air of luxury different from 
anything that the rest of the house could boast. 

Mrs. Tempest was seated by the bright wood fire that 
blazed upon the hearth, and as she saw Phyllis she held out 
her hand with a smile. 

“Is it you, little one, prowling about? Yes, come in, 
dear ; this is my own special sanctum, and we can enjoy a 
little chat quite undisturbed. Your cousins have not de- 
serted you, have they?” 

“ No, I think I have deserted them ; they are busy down- 
stairs, and the boys are out.” 

“ And you feel just a little strange in the strange house, 
and are come to the mother for a little bit of sympathy ? ” 
And something in the gentleness of the words themselves 
or in the sweetness of the smile that accompanied them 
brought sudden tears quite unexpectedly into Phyllis’s eyes, 


76 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


and she sat down on the stool at her aunt’s feet and laid 
her head against her knee, crying a little, she could not 
tell why. 

But Mrs. Tempest seemed to know all about it. She 
caressed the bowed head, and spoke loving, soothing words, 
and very soon the tears, that seemed half of pleasure and 
half of sorrow, were dried ; and Phyllis, looking up trustfully 
into the loving face above her, said, softly : — 

44 1 don’t think any one ever loved me before — not really 

— not to show it, I mean. But I don’t know why it makes 
me cry.” 

Mrs. Tempest smiled tenderly. 

44 Poor little girl! we cannot quite get on without love, 
any of us ; but your good aunts loved you more than you 
knew, I suspect ; and then there was your father.” 

She spoke the last name very quietly and softly, and the 
tears again started to the girl’s eyes. 

44 1 can hardly remember him. I was only a little girl 
when he brought me to England and left me there. He does 
not seem to belong to my real life. There were- his letters 

— how I did look for mail day ! and he hardly ever missed 
one — and there was the hope of his coming to me soon. It 
was coming so very near, and I was so happy in the thought, 
and then — he died.” 

“Poor little girl!” said Mrs. Tempest, softly ; 44 but, 
Phyllis dear, have you been able to give him up willingly 
because it has been God’s will to call him ? ” 

Phyllis shook her head. 

44 1 don’t think so, Aunt Helen. I think I have omy 
grieved less than some girls would have done because I did 
not really know him, and because it did not make quite the 
blank in my life that it might have done. I don’t think I 


SUNDAY. 


77 


ever thought about it’s being God’s will. People talk about 
it, I know, but it never seems to make any real difference.” 

Mrs. Tempest smoothed the girl’s golden hair and looked 
into the earnest, wistful eyes. 

u You mean, little one, that a trouble would not be any 
easier to you to bear because you felt it had been sent you 
from the hand of a loving Father, who knows what discipline 
each of His children needs.” 

“ I don’t think it would to me, Aunt Helen,” answered 
Phyllis, truthfully ; “ would it to you? ” 

“ I trust so, my child.” 

“ How?” 

Mrs. Tempest smiled a little. 

“ A question more easily asked than answered, my love ; 
but I suppose it is something like the feeling that a child has 
towards its parents. We take punishment and denial from 
them quietly and patiently, knowing, in spite of passing 
anger or vexation, that they are really acting for our good, 
and that they know best.” 

“ That seems different,” said Phyllis. 

“ Yes, dear child, and it is different ; for earthly parents 
make mistakes, and are not always wise enough to act for 
the best, even when they most wish it; but our Father in 
heaven never errs ; and He can read the very thoughts of our 
hearts. He sends to each one of us what is right and best, 
and does all things well.” 

Phyllis sighed a little. 

“ I know that is what good people say and think, and it 
is real to them ; but to me it is only words. I know it is true, 
— I mean I am quite ready to believe, — but there is not any 
reality about it to me.” 

“ You are young yet, m} r love,” answered Mrs. Tempest, 


78 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


gently. “ I think it is difficult for the young to learn lessons 
of faith and resignation. Youth is impetuous, always want- 
ing to take life into its own hands and rule the world its 
own way.” 

u But I want to be good,” said Phyllis, earnestly. “Papa 
sent me a little shaky pencil note — he must have written it 
only a very little while before he died. He told me to be 
good — to try and walk in Christ’s footsteps and join him 
and mamma some day. He said they would be waiting and 
watching for me — ” And Phyllis’s voice grew tremulous, 
and she broke off abruptly. 

“ And you will try, dear? ” 

u I want to, but I don’t know how. It does not seem 
enough to be good outwardly. That is easy, but it is not real 
— it does not go through me.” 

Mrs. Tempest smiled thoughtfully. Phyllis mused awhile 
in silence, and then asked : — 

‘ 1 Are my cousins good like you ? ” 

A little shade gathered on the mother’s brow. 

“Young people are often very reserved about their deeper 
feelings, my love, especially, I think, in large families, and 
my children have lived in a world in which they have heard 
much of controversy and discussion that possibly may have 
perplexed and unsettled them somewhat. The groundwork, 
I trust, is there, the seed sown, but when the harvest will 
appear is an anxious question sometimes.” Mrs. Tempest 
was speaking almost dreamily, as if she hardly remembered 
the presence of her listener ; then, rousing herself suddenly, 
she asked, “ What made you inquire, Phyllis?” 

“ I hardly know. Things seem so different here. But 
Ursula reads Latin and Greek all day, and somehow it makes 
it seem hardly like Sunday, though I suppose it is all easy 


SUNDAY. 


79 


to her. Sundays used to be rather dull : I did n’t like them 
much ; but I used to try and think and make plans about 
being good all the week. Till I came to you just now I 
did n’t feel able to think. It seemed as if I ought to read a 
hard book too, and I did n’t feel quite inclined.” 

Mrs. Tempest smiled at the childlike frankness with which 
Phyllis spoke, yet her face was a little grave too. 

“Your cousins do on Sunday what you would not have 
been permitted to do?” she asked. 

Phyllis hesitated a moment, and then answered, truth- 
fully, “ Yes.” 

“ My children are growing rather too old to be dictated to 
on such points,” said Mrs. Tempest, “and it is always a 
difficult question to know how to lay down rules as to the 
keeping of Sunday ; but there is one rule that cannot be 
wrong.” 

“What is that? ” 

“ To keep it holy — to do everything as unto God. If 
we can do that we cannot go far wrong.” 

Phyllis paused in thought. 

“ I am afraid I have never done that, though I have been 
made to be very particular. Perhaps Ursula and Beryl keep 
their Sunday better really than I do.” Phyllis’s face was 
grave ; she did not observe that her aunt’s was the same. 

Mrs. Tempest stooped to kiss the girl’s broad brow. 

“Little daughter,” she said, tenderly, “we have taken 
each other into mutual confidence to-day. Will you come 
here every Sunday afternoon, and let us talk a little together? 
It does us both good, I think.” 

And Phyllis put her arms about her aunt’s neck and prom- 
ised gladly and gratefully. 



CHAPTER VI. 


AT CH ANDOS CEDARS. 



=^HEN you are going to appear to-night, Kings- 
ley?” said Hilda, looking at him rather anx- 
iously. “Are you sure you feel fit?” 

“ Quite, thank you,” he answered, smiling. “I think I 
am more equal to it than you, Hilda.” 

The girl smiled, a little nervously. Her face was very 
pale, and a spot of color burned in each cheek. She started 
at any sudden sound, and there was a curious restlesfness in 
her manner. 

Kingsley was sitting up in an easy-chair before the fire. 
He was in dinner dress when his sister found him, which fact 
had elicited the remark just quoted. 

“ When do you expect them?” he asked. 

“ Almost directly ; they may be here any time after eight. 
The carriage has been gone a long time. I have put dinner 
to nine o’clock to-night. It will make the evening short, 
that is one good thing.” 

4 4 Where is Montague ? ” 

44 Here,” answered a voice just outside the door. “ So, 
King, you are going to dine to-night?” 

“Yes.” 

44 I’d stay away if I were you.” 

44 No, I am quite able to appear, and I wish to show all 
[ 80 ] 




AT CH ANDOS CEDARS. 


81 


due respect to Mrs. Tempest. You know the more one 
makes up one’s mind to a thing the easier it is to put up 
with it. It ’s a great art to make the best of unpleasant 
necessities.” 

“ An art you possess to a greater degree than Hilda or 
I,” answered Montague, laying his hand on his brother’s 
shoulder, his stern face softening a little. “ I don’t doubt 
that you are right, King, but — ” The pause was more ex- 
pressive than any words could be. 

“I think I hear the carriage,” said Hilda, turning very 
pale. “ Come, Montague ; Kingsley, I suppose you will 
not appear till dinner-time ? ” 

“ I think not.” 

And the next minute Kingsley was alone once more, 
listening with straining ears to the subdued sounds from the 
distant hall indicating the arrival of his father and the new 
mistress%f Chandos Cedars. 

The young man leaned his head on his hand and tried to ' 
realize what it all meant. He had been passionately at- 
tached to his mother, and it was perhaps more painful to 
him than to any one else to see her place thus usurped by 
another. Moreover, this second marriage had been so sud- 
den, and seemed altogether so out of keeping with Gen. 
Tempest’s previous character, that it was impossible to avoid 
suspecting he had been in some way entrapped into it. 
Kingsley’s nature was not prone to harbor uncharitable 
thoughts, and he tried to fight down all such now ; never- 
theless, the uneasy fear would haunt him still that his father 
had fallen into a net that had been cleverly spread for him. 

As he was musing thus alone by his fire, the door of his 
room opened, and he looked up eagerly, half expecting to 
see his father. But it was not the General who had invaded 
6 


82 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


his solitude, and the look of expectancy faded, and was 
replaced by a quiet smile. 

“ Well, Colquhoun, it is you, is it ?” 

“ Yes, I just came to have a look at you and hear how 
matters were going ; but I ’m afraid I ’ve arrived at ar 
unpropitious moment. I hear your father has only jusl 
come.” 

“Yes; he telegraphed this morning that he could not ge 
away earlier. They have just arrived, I believe.” 

“ You have seen no one yet?” 

u No ; I shall do so shortly, though.” 

Colquhoun looked at him keenly for a few seconds out of i 
pair of peculiarly penetrating eyes. The doctor’s face wai 
thin and smooth-shaven, the features very clearly cut, th< 
expression indicative of unusual acuteness of observation. 

“How do Montague and Hilda take to the idea?” askec 
Colquhoun, with the freedom of an intimate friend. 

Kingsley smiled a little and half shrugged his shoulders 

“It is not pleasant to any of us, naturally ; but some 
times the reality turns out better than the anticipation.” 

“Hum! Well, yes, possibly so; but Chandos Cedar, 
will never be the same with a new mistress over it — ; 
stranger, too ; the whole thing seems so extraordinary am 
sudden. It is to be hoped the arrangement will add to you 
father’s happiness. It is hardly likely to enhance that o 
anybody else.” 

Kingsley was looking gravely into the fire, then i 
quaintly humorous gleam crossed his face. 

“ After all, a new mistress may do us all good, 
sometimes think we are in danger of falling into lazy, id! 
ways. Some of us may be improved by a little stirring up. 

“ Yourself for one? ” queried Colquhoun. 


AT CHANDOS CEDARS. 


83 


“ To be sure. It is high time I bestirred myself. I am 
going to emancipate myself from thraldom at last.” 

“ You are, are you ? ” 

“ Yes, I’m really not very lame now, and moving about 
does n’t do me any harm. You said so yourself the other 
day, Colquhoun, and I’ve got the summer before me.” 

“Yes, you’ve got that in your favor. But take things 
gently ; don’t put too much pressure on yourself.” 

“ Oh, no ! it will be very pleasant to be about again. I 
quite enjoy the prospect. You see, the others are kept here 
mainly on my account, so I am bound to take my share in 
doing our duty by our new relatives. It ’s rather hard that 
they should have to stay when they like the prospect of it so 
little. Still, possibly in the long run it will turn out for the 
best. The General would not have liked a general exodus.” 

“He would have had nobody but himself to thank for 
it,” said Colquhoun. 

Kingsley laughed a little. 

“That may be, but he would hardly look upon it in that 
light himself. After all, if Montague were to marry, and I 
were to — to leave home with Hilda, aswe sometimes talk 
or have talked of doing, he would be rather lonely some- 
times, even if Montague and his hypothetical wife did live 
here, as has sometimes been suggested.” 

“ Possibly ; but Montague does not seem in any hurry to 
enter the matrimonial state.” 

“True enough ; but he might do so at any time. I wish 
he could find a nice wife. He has very strong affections, 
and would be just the best kind of husband for the right 
woman, neither tied to her apron-strings nor in the least 
inclined to neglect her.” 

“Well, we’ll hope he’ll meet his fate some day soon,” 


84 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


answered Colquhoun. “ You must let us know how things 
go here ; but I must be off now.” 

“ I dare say Montague will walk over to-morrow. 1 
expect he will want to keep out of the way as much as pos- 
sible for a time. You must smooth him down all you can.’ 3 

So Colquhoun departed, and Kingsley sat still and quiel 
and looking thoughtfully into the fire, a shadowy smile upou 
his lips and a curious light in his eyes. Presently he rose 
again and walked slowly across the room down the long pas- 
sage into the square lofty hall of the Cedars, and thence intc 
the drawing-room, that was empty now and brilliantly lighted, 
as if to do honor to the presence of the new mistress. Kings- 
ley moved with some effort, and when he sat down there was 
an upright line in his brow, and his lips were compressed and 
pale ; but he was not thinking of himself as he sat waiting 
for his step-mother to appear. He was looking round the 
room, which he had not entered for many long weeks, and 
was noting the changes and the embellishments that had 
been made, evidently with a view of pleasing the new mis- 
tress. 

Kingsley was not fond of change. He had liked the room 
better in its former state, when some of the dimness of age 
hung about the corners, and his dead mother’s chair and 
work-table stood always as she had left them in the bay- 
window that looked southward over the park. These had 
been moved away now. No doubt Hilda had them safe 
somewhere, but Kingsley missed them painfully ; he had sc 
often watched his mother sitting at work there in sunshine 
or by lamplight, had so often in later years pictured hei 
there as he sat in some shadowy corner dreaming of her tc 
the sound of Hilda’s music. The new Chippendale davfenporl 
and chair that now occupied that window looked curiously 


AT CHANDOS CEDARS. 


85 


incongruous to his eyes, and brought home to him as noth- 
ing had yet done the change that had come over the home. 

But he had not long to indulge in his re very. The hands 
of the clock were approaching the hour of eight ; and in 
another minute a rustle outside the door was followed by the 
entrance of General and Mrs. Tempest. 

Kingsley rose quickly, his face flushing somewhat ; and 
he shook hands with both in the courtly fashion that came 
natural to the Tempests, and spoke a few words of welcome 
to his step-mother. She looked very handsome and very 
proud, yet rather as if this pride were put on in a measure in 
self-defence. Her face relaxed as she met the kindly glance 
in Kingsley’s eyes, and she smiled in a way that showed her 
to be capable of a good deal of feeling. He felt relieved 
from a sort of oppression ; the constraint on both sides 
yielded. 

“ You are better, I hope,” she said, seating herself, and 
motioning him to do the same. “ I have been so sorry to 
hear of your long illness.” 

“ You are very kind,” he answered. “ I hope that is a 
thing of the past now.” 

“ I am glad to see you on your legs again, my boy,” said 
the General, kindly. “I was afraid, from Hilda’s letters, 
that you w£re still half an invalid.” 

Kingsley looked at his father and then at Mrs. Tempest 
with a smile. 

“ Sisters like to feel their power over a fellow when he is 
down,” he answered. “ Hilda has made such a very clever 
nurse that I think she is half afraid her occupation will be 
gone now.” ' 

Gen. Tempest laughed. 

“You look well enough, anyhow,” he said; but Mrs. 


86 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Tempest, whose observant eyes were fastened on Kingsley’s 
face, from which the flush had now faded, said, with more of 
kindliness in her tone than the young man had ever heard 
before : — 

“ Do you think so, Reginald? I should say he wanted a 
great deal of care still. He is much thinner than when I 
saw him at Christmas.” 

Kingsley, however, adroitly turned the conversation into 
a political channel, and the General was only too pleased 
to give an account of the bill he had been mainly instru- 
mental in passing through the House. 

Montague, Hilda, and Venice came in one by one, the 
last very elaborately dressed, presenting a marked contrast 
to Hilda, who was in plain black velvet and old lace, her 
only ornament being a string of costly pearls round her slen- 
der throat. 

Kingsley, whose nature it was to think of the feelings of 
others, and to make every difficult situation as easy as pos- 
sible, entered at once into conversation with Venice, and 
when dinner was announced offered her his arm to escort 
her to her place ; for he had seen that Montague, disre- 
garding his father’s glance, had given his arm to Hilda. 

Venice seemed very languid and indifferent, and did not 
appear to notice anything of this. She talked but little 
during the meal, and that in a negligent fashion. Perhaps 
she observed more than she appeared to do, for presently 
she turned to her companion and said, in a low tone : — 

“ Pray do not exert yourself to try and amuse me: I am 
sure you are tired to death.” 

Kingsley was in truth almost at the far end of his powers ; 
but he had no idea that any one was aware of this. The long 
dinner, the heat of the room, the length of time he had been 


AT CHANDOS CEDARS. 


87 


sitting up, together with the mental strain upon him, were 
taxing his strength to the utmost, but he was trying hard to 
hold out and to hide his weariness from the rest. 

Montague and Hilda were opposite, and they had their 
own part to sustain. Montague’s face wore a dark ’ -a. 
He hated unspeakably to see his sister’s place at the head oi 
the table usurped by another. He hardly knew how to bear 
a part in the talk that passed stiffly at this formal meal. 
He avoided looking at his brother, lest his irritation should 
too plainly manifest itself. Hilda could not see him for the 
flowers in the centre of the table, and she was doing her 
utmost to command herself and to talk quietly and naturally 
to her father. 

This attack from so unexpected a quarter took Kingsley 
quite by surprise. He turned to Venice with his pleasant 
smile. 

“ I am afraid I have been a very dull neighbor. You 
see, I have been shut up a good deal lately ; I have not kept 
myself up with the current topics of the day.” 

u You have been ill, and you are tired to death,” returned 
Venice, in her customary languid way. “ You’ve hardly 
touched anything, and you don’t know how to sit dinner 
out. Oh, yes ! I know. You feel as I do sometimes when 
my neuralgia is bad, only I want to scold everybody, ai,d I 
dare say you don’t. Hold on a little longer, and as soon as 
dessert is put on the table I will make mamma move. And 
don’t try to talk any more ; it is quite wretched to hear 
you.” 

And Venice relapsed into indifferent silence, leaving 
Kingsley much puzzled by her. This blending of languid 
affectation with real consideration and thoughtfulness seemed 
curious, and was rather interesting. 


88 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


He was grateful to her and took her at her word, and she 
was as good as her promise, and by a pleading glance at her 
mother brought about a general rise much sooner than might 
have been expected. 

“I wonder if she and Hilda will ever get on together?” 
mused Kingsley as he saw them pass out in the wake of 
Mrs. Tempest. “It will make all the difference if they do.” 

Hilda and Venice entered the drawing-room together, 
and paused by the piano as if by mutual consent. It was 
a fine instrument, bought quite lately to replace the old Erard 
that the first TVIrs. Tempest had so often played upon. 

“A Broadwood,” said Venice; “it looks a very good 
one. What kind of a tone has it?” 

“ I don’t know : I have never tried it.” 

“ Never tried it ! Is it new ? ” 

“ Yes, quite new ; and we have not been using this room 
much lately. It is too large for a small party.” 

“ Suppose you try it now? ” 

“Won’t you play yourself, Miss Edgeler? I am not 
much of a musician.” 

Venice looked at her steadily for a few seconds. 

“It is just as you please, of course,” she said, with the 
cool air of languor that seemed characteristic of her ; “ but 
don’t you think it is rather absurd for us to adopt that for- 
mality, all things considered ? Of course I am aware that I 
am an interloper, only tolerated as a matter ^f necessity ; 
but as I am a necessity for the time being, I don’t see any 
use in advertising the fact of a mutual antipathy. The in- 
terchange of Christian names between two girls does not 
imply any wonderful amount of affection.” 

Hilda, much surprised at the quiet audacity of such a 
speech, yet hardly displeased by a frankness that seemed 


AT CHANDOS CEDARS. 


89 


natural and unstudied, met her companion’s glance steadily 
for a moment or two, and then answered, with a slight 
smile : — 

“ Perhaps you are right. Will you not play us some- 
thing, Venice? ” 

“By and by,” she answered. “I always prefer to wait 
for an audience. I wish you would show me over some of 
the rooms here. I think this house is perfectly charming, 
and I want to see more of it.” 

“Very well, I will show you some of it,” answered Hilda, 
feeling that there was perhaps less of awkwardness in doing 
this than in attempting a conversation in which Mrs. Tem- 
pest must be included. Venice explained to her mother on 
what errand they were bound, and the two girls quitted the 
room together. 

“ This is the small drawing-room, which we generally use 
when we are alone. It has a big bay-window with a wide 
balcony and veranda, and we like it better than the larger 
room. Beyond is a sort of boudoir ; it has been fitted up 
for your mother, but I don’t think it is lighted up to-night.” 

And then Hilda led her guest to the smoking-room and 
library, the study and gun-room, and so to the picture gal- 
lery with the north light that led right up to Kingsley’s rooms 
in the west wing. 

Venice did not talk much, but she was evidently not a 
little delighted by all she saw. Chandos Cedars was un- 
doubtedly a very beautiful old j>Jace, quite different from any 
(£ouse the girl had ever knowh before. ^ » 

“ I should think you must have led a very happy life' in a 
place like this,” she remarked, thoughtfully, standing in the 
dimly lighted picture gallery, amid the g jjp tty looking rows 
of ancestral portraits. “ It is quite an ij$&l l^ouse.” 


90 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ I am very fond of it,” answered Hilda, quietly, wonder- 
ing, as she spoke, how long she would continue fond of it 
under the new regime . 

“ What room is that?” asked Venice, turning to the half- 
open door at the end of the corridor from which the ruddy 
firelight streamed. 

“ It is my old nursery and school-room. Since Kingsley 
has been ill it has been fitted up for him, and he has a bed- 
room next door, to save him the stairs. He has pretty well 
lived there, poor boy ! since he hurt himself last July.” 

“May I go in?” asked Venice. 

“ I suppose so,” answered Hilda, with a little reluctance, 
for she did not quite approve the invasion of her brother’s 
sanctum even in his absence, and the next minute the two 
girls stood in the firelit room together. 

It looked like an invalid’s room, with its couch and re- 
volving table and deep easy-chairs ; yet it was stamped with 
that curious individuality that some people manage, in some 
inexplicable way, to convey to their surroundings. 

Venice was struck by this at once. 

“ What a nice room ! ” she said. “ It is just like Kings- 
ley, somehow. Do you know, I like him so very much, though 
I know him so little. But how very ill he seems ! ” Hilda 
looked surprised, and a little startled. She had fancied him 
so much better. 

“Do you think so? Ah, you did not see him two months 
ago. He was very ill indeed then ; but he is getting well 
fast now.” 

“ I thought he looked wretchedly ill at dinner to-night, 
but perhaps that was due to the ordeal of meeting us. He 
talks and smiles as if nothing were the matter, but he looks 
to me as if he were always in pain. Have you ever noticed 
the lines round his eyes and mouth ? ” 


AT CHANDOS CEDARS. 


91 


Hilda was greatly surprised at the gravity of the girl’s 
tone, and at the power of observation she evinced, — she who 
seemed almost too languid to notice anything. 

44 He has been through a great deal these past months,” 
she answered, with something of nervous hurry in her man- 
ner. 44 No doubt he shows it to a certain extent; but he 
realty is wonderfully better.” 

44 The brother of a great friend of mine died last year, 
after a long lingering illness. I used often to stay in the 
house, so I saw a great deal of him one way or another. 
Something in Kingsley’s face reminds me so of the look his 
often wore. I think perhaps that is why I took to him 
directly. I feel as if I had known him quite a long time.” 

“Every one likes Kingsley,” said Hilda, a tender light 
shining in her eyes. 44 Nobody knows what he is to us — 
what he is in this house. You cannot think what it was 
like in the winter, when it seemed as if we might lose him. 
It was too dreadful.” 

Hilda was betrayed into an unusual agitation ; but she 
controlled herself quickly, and said, with a smile that was a 
little forced : — 

44 Shall we come back to the drawing-room now? I think 
you frightened me by talking of Kingsley as you did. If 
you Lad seen him a little while ago, you would think him 
wonderful now.” 

44 1 do think him wonderful,” answered Venice ; and they 
went back to the drawing-room. 

The gentlemen had come in by that time. Kingsley 
was sitting beside Mrs. Tempest, talking to her in friendly 
fashion, and amusing her with traditional stories connected 
with Chandos Cedars and its environment. He was a very 
good hand at telling a story, and his companion looked 
pleased and interested by what she heard. 


92 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Montague conversed apart with his father. His face was 
still dark and gloomy, and it seemed as if the General were 
trying to talk away the cloud from his brow. 

When Venice sat down to the piano he withdrew, and 
leaned against an embrasure of the window, the General 
crossed over to his wife, and Hilda came behind Kingsley 
and leaned over him. 

“You are not doing too much? You are not over-tiring 
yourself?” 

He leaned back and looked into her face with a smile. 

“I have done capitally, I think, and things have gone 
very well,” he answered, in low tones, under cover of the 
music, adding presently, by way of a question : — 

“ How did you get on with the new sister?” 

From any one but Kingsley, Hilda would have deeply 
resented such an acknowledgment of kinship with these 
interlopers ; but he was privileged to say what he would, 
and there was no resisting the smile in his eyes. She felt 
very tender over him to-night, for she had been made 
vaguely uneasy by Venice’s words, and she could not take 
her eyes off his face. 

“ I think I liked her better than I expected,” she answered, 
candidly, “ but you know that is not saying very much. 
Kingsley, are you sure you are fit to be here ? Is n’t your 
knee aching very much ? ” 

“ No ; I can rest it nicely now. You are not to worry 
over me any more, little sister, until I give you leave.” 

“ And when will that be?” she asked, playfully. 

He looked at her smilingly. 

“Some day, perhaps; it is pleasant sometimes to be 
spoiled. Now let me enjoy the music. Miss Edgeler plays 
very well indeed.” 


AT CH ANDOS CEDARS. 


93 


Venice was a brilliant but not a very sympathetic pianist. 
She did great credit to her teaching, which had been of the 
very best, and was beautifully accurate, even if somewhat 
lacking in musical feeling. 

Kingsley thanked her warmly when she rose, and the 
General spoke his pleasure at hearing her in his own house. 
Then Hilda was persuaded, with a little difficulty, to sing. 
She was reluctant to do so, but Kingsley’s wish carried the 
day, and both Mrs. Tempest and Venice were much struck 
with the peculiar deep richness of her voice. 

So the evening slipped quietly away, more easily than 
any one dared to hope, and when Kingsley reached his room 
that night, more tired out than any one suspected, he heaved 
a sigh of relief, and said to himself : — 

“ Well, I think that no one can call that a bad beginning. 
I am very glad it is so well over.” 



CHAPTER VII. 

THE NEW MISTRESS. 

2 F the arrival of the second Mrs. Tempest at Chandos 
Cedars had passed off better than was at first antici- 
pated, matters did not entirely justify the hope that 
life would run smoothly there during the days and weeks 
that followed. 

Mrs. Tempest came to the Cedars with the full intention 
of making herself mistress there, and the only mistress, 
moreover ; and she had determined to do this in spite of the 
opposition which she fully expected to meet, and had braced 
herself to overcome from the very outset. 

It was obvious enough that Montague and Hilda keenly 
resented her presence there His icy coldness of demeanor 
and her tacit avoidance of the new-comers plainly showed 
their latent antagonism ; and it was impossible to avoid 
friction and small annoyances at every turn, however wish- 
ful each individual might be to keep up appearances before 
the household. 

Hilda did her utmost to efface herself and to avoid in any 
way interfering with Mrs. Tempest’s management of all 
within the house. But she had been mistress there too 
long for this to be all at once an easy task. The old ser- 
vants were devoted to her, and resented the advent of a 
new mistress not a little. They would jpersist in coming to 
[ 94 ] 




THE NEW MISTRESS. 


95 


the girl to consult her wishes or to lodge a complaint ; they 
disliked every change that Mrs. Tempest instituted, and 
made small pretence of concealing their feelings. Then 
Hilda considered herself at liberty to regulate certain mat- 
ters with regard to herself and her brothers without in any 
way consulting her step-mother, and she had been too long 
used to solitary independence to accommodate herself easily 
to the habits of others. 

Mrs. Tempest saw' everything, and disapproved of much 
that she saw, and the consequence was a succession of 
trifling jars that left a good deal of sore feeling behind. 

When this sort of thing is going on constantly there is 
certain to be a storm at last. 

“Hilda,” said Mrs. Tempest one afternoon, as the girl 
came by chance into the room in which she was sitting alone, 
“ can you spare me a few minutes? There are a few things 
I w'ish to talk over with you.” 

Hilda’s face hardened into set lines, and in her eyes there 
was a subdued flash. She looked very like Montague as she 
sat down, facing Mrs. Tempest. 

“ You will probably be annoyed at what I am going to 
say,” began Mrs. Tempest, “and of course I arrogate to 
myself no authority over you or your actions. At the same 
time, I reserve to myself the right of speaking if I see 
sufficient cause.” 

Hilda was silent, but she bent her head in a sort of 
haughty acquiescence. 

“ I cannot help feeling that the way you hold aloof from 
Venice is neither courteous nor becoming. You are very 
much of an age, and have a good deal in common. You 
might be very good friends if you would ; but, save at such 
times when meeting is inevitable, you hold yourself entirely 


96 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


aloof, and we hardly see you. It is not much that I ask, 
but I must say I do wish some slight improvement in this 
matter. You are aware, for instance, what a timid rider 
Venice is, and how nervous she is riding alone, yet you have 
never once offered to accompany her, although you go 
scouring the country almost every day with your brother.” 

Hilda’s face flushed slightly. 

“ I have given up my favorite saddle-horse for your 
daughter’s use, because his temper and paces suited her 
better than anything else in the stables. I do not see what 
more you expect of me.” 

“ I did not say I expected anything ; but I am suggesting 
as a favor that you ride sometimes with Venice. You must 
know quite well that riding alone is very little pleasure.” 

“ My brother generally wants me.” 

“ But you could ask Venice to accompany you.” 

Hilda’s lip curled a little. “ I hardly think Venice would 
enjoy such rides as Montague and I take.” 

“ Possibly it might occur to you to accommodate your- 
selves occasionally to her tastes.” 

Hilda was silent. 

“Well?” questioned Mrs. Tempest at length. 

u What do you wish me to say ? ” 

u I only want an answer.” 

“ If you insist upon an answer, you must not complain if 
it is not to your taste. I might ride with your daughter 
myself, of course ; but I consider it more than doubtful 
whether my brother would ever consent to be of the party.” 

There was silence for a while, and then Mrs. Tempest 
changed the subject. 

“ There is another point I wish to name. I have been 
looking through the house to find a room fit for a studio for 


THE NEW MISTRESS. 


97 


myself. I employ much of my leisure time in painting, and 
I find that the only place suitable to my purpose, and at the 
same time available, is the large square room at the end of 
the west wing, next to the picture gallery.” 

“ That is Kingsley’s room,” said Hilda, quickly and in- 
dignantly : “ you cannot have that.” 

Mrs. Tempest’s pride rose up in arms in a moment. 

“ Excuse me, Hilda, I am mistress in my husband’s 
house, and I can have any room for myself that I choose. 
I have spoken to your father on the subject, and it appears 
that it is only since Kingsley’s illness that he has used that 
room. He is well on the road to health now, and is less in 
need each day of his former sanctum. Any room will do 
for a young man to read or rest in, but as I always work 
in the morning hours, a north or west light is absolutely 
necessary for me. Also the close proximity of the picture 
gallery is a matter of great importance. I shall speak to 
Kingsley. He can have the use of the corresponding room 
in the east wing — the smoking-room, is it not? It will be 
just as convenient for him, and he can enjoy the society of 
his friends who come from time to time to smoke.” 

Hilda felt a wave of passionate anger rise up within her, 
but outwardly she kept calm. 

“Mrs. Tempest, that room has always been mine from 
my childhood upwards. When Kingsley was ill so long, and 
could only get about on the level, I gave it up to him, and 
it has been his for many months ; but if he does not need it 
any longer — ” 

“Then it will come in most usefully for me,” concluded 
Mrs. Tempest, with calm decision. “Exactly what I felt 
myself, and your father also. Perhaps you will kindly re- 
move from it during the course of the next few days any 
7 


98 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


little things you look upon as your particular property. I 
mean to set to work to fit it as a studio very shortly. I am 
wishful to get to work again.” 

Hilda would not trust herself to speak. She rose and 
walked deliberately from the room. 

A fire seemed burning within her, her eyes glowed and 
flashed, and the hot color mounted to her face. She turned 
her steps towards the west wing, and entered the room about 
which the discussion had just been held. 

Kingsley was lying on his sofa by the fire, his hands 
clasped behind his head. He had been so much on his feet 
latterly that Hilda controlled herself to ask, with solicitude : — 

“You are not worse, Kingsley? ” 

“No, it is only laziness and the force of habit,” he 
answered, smiling ; then, catching sight of her face, he 
asked, “What is the matter, Hilda?” 

She came and sat down in her favorite place on the car- 
pet beside him, with her back against his sofa. She did not 
particularly wish her face to be seen. 

“ Mrs. Tempest has been talking to me,” she answered, 
constrainedly. 

Kingsley put out his hand, and possessed himself of. one 
of hers. 

“ Well, little sister? ” 

Something in the action seemed to rouse Hilda, and with 
unusual fierceness she broke out : — ^ 

“ She seems bent on making us hate her I ” 

“ What fyas she been saying or doing now?” and Hilda 
knew that Kingsley was smiling. 

“It is nothing to laugh at,” she answered, hotly. “I 
hardly like to tell you.” 

“ Come, out with it.” 


THE NEW MISTRESS. 


99 


“ She means to take possession of this room and turn it 
into a studio for herself/' 

Hilda did not see the quick glance of regret that swept 
round the familiar room, nor the momentary wistfulness in 
the eyes that looked from the window across the noble sweep 
of park, she only heard the lightly spoken words : — 

“Is that all?” 

“All, forsooth! is it not enough? Just the one place 
where you can rest and be quiet and free from interruption, 
and where we can come without fear of molestation. I know 
her motive : she is jealous of any liberty ; she wants to rob 
me of my best retreat. You are quite well, she argues, and 
in no need of a private room. You can use the smoking- 
room — it must be quite the same thing to you — and have 
your friends there. Of course she knows that the smoking- 
room can never be really private. She can come there at 
pleasure, and summon me away on trivial excuses, as she 
could not when I was here.” 

Hilda spoke with vehemence and impetuosity, going over 
the whole of the recent interview with .Mrs. Tempest, and 
relieving a good deal of pent-up feeling by a downright ex- 
plosion of wrath. Kingsley let her have her say unchecked. 
He saw it would relieve her, and he listened quietly and sym- 
pathetically to everything she had to say. The outburst did 
her good. She grew calmer as she finished, and then sat 
silent for a long time, holding her brother’s hand in both of 
hers. She looked down absently at it, and noticed gradually 
how thin and white it was. She turned round presently and 
studied his face intently. 

“ Kingsley,” she said, “ are you not angry?” 

He could not help smiling. 

“ Why should I be angry?” 


100 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ At being turned out of your room.” 

“ My dear little sister, surely the house is big enough for 
us all to live together in peace. I don’t doubt my ability to 
find a quiet corner for myself whenever I want one. If Mrs. 
Tempest likes to make a studio here, she is very welcome 
indeed to do so. Surely our father’s wife has the first right 
to it.” 

Hilda was still studying his face. 

“ Are you never angry about anything, Kingsley?” 

The humorous gleam in his eyes made her smile in spite 
of herself. 

“ What a comprehensive question ! Why are you so bent 
on raising my ire ? ” 

“I don’t know. I think I want to see you like other 
people again. Do you know, Kingsley, that you seem some- 
how on a different level — you breathe a different air ? I am 
not sure that I quite like it.” 

He laughed softly and touched her grave face caressingly 
with the tips of his fingers. 

“You always were different,” pursued Hilda, still intent 
on her own thoughts, “ and all the time you were ill you 
were growing more and more unlike us. It used to frighten 
me sometimes ; I was afraid you might grow too good to 
live ; but, now that you are getting better, it is just the same. 
I think I should be happier if you would be one or two 
degrees less patient — just a little more like the rest of us.” 

His smile did not reassure her, she still looked dissatisfied 
and a little anxious. 

“ Does nothing trouble you, Kingsley?” 

“ Oh, yes ! some things do.” 

“But yet you never show it — you never get irritated 
over the worries and bothers of life.” 


THE NEW MISTRESS 


101 


He was silent awhile, musing, caressing her hair sooth- 
ingly, as he had been in the habit of doing from her child- 
hood. 

“ Why is that? ” she asked. 

“ My dear little sister, how am I to answer you? Might 
I not rather ask why it is that you let yourself be made an- 
gry and excited over such little things? Has life no deep 
meaning for you, that you feel so keenly about trifles ? ” 

He spoke very gently, and his smile more than made up 
for the implied rebuke. She was very quiet for a time, and 
then asked : — 

“ What do you mean, Kingsley?” 

“I mean that life seems to me a very earnest, solemn, 
beautiful thing, a great gift that we ought to take in the 
spirit in which it is given. It is too good and grand a thing 
to be spoiled and >ured by idle regrets and fits of passing 
annoyance. There is always enough of good around us to 
make us happy if we will only not insist on seeing nothing 
but the evil and making ourselves miserable.” 

“ It is so hard to see the good. Life seems to have more 
of sadness than of happiness to me. There was the past, you 
know — that trouble ; then your illness ; now our home 
spoiled and made miserable. What good can there be in all 
that?” 

“A very great deal, I do not doubt, little sister. Some 
day, perhaps, 3 T ou will see it yourself. I can see a little 
even now, I think.” 

“ What do you mean?” 

“Don't you think there is such a thing as leading too 
easy and pleasant a life ? a danger of growing selfish and 
self-absorbed? We had such peculiarly bright times always. 
Perhaps a little more discipline was a good thing for us all.” 


102 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ And you who needed it least have had the most,” said 
Hilda, half resentfully. 

“Not a bit more than I needed,” he answered, with a 
smile she did not quite understand. “I wanted my own 
way as much as you or Montague can ever have done. I 
did not know how self-willed I was till I had to learn to 
give up.” 

She looked at him with some anxiety. 

“What do you mean? You know you never were self- 
willed.” 

“ Was I not? What about that pet dream of mine? ” 

“ Of working yourself to death over the poor down in 
the London slums ? Why, Kingsley, how can you talk as if 
it could be wrong to wish to do anything noble like that ? 
The best men in the world could not wish for a greater 
renunciation of all that makes life pleasant than you do.” 

“ And I have had to learn that renunciation is not to be 
forme,” said Kingsley, with his thoughtful smile. “I am 
only worthy to be called on to renounce renunciation.” 

She looked at him with disquieted eyes. 

“ You will get well,” she said. “ You will carry out 
your old dream then.” 

He smiled very brightly. 

“We will not trouble ourselves about the future. I 
have learned my lesson, and I am not going to unlearn it 
again if I can help it. It has twice seemed as if it would 
be my fate to be lame for life. It is uncertain still whether 
I shall ever be what is called 4 good for much/ At any 
rate, I have had to make up my mind to accept life as it 
comes to me, and to do what lies nearest, even if it is only 
to lie still and helpless, instead of going out into the world 
to fight in its great battles. After all, what does it matter, 


THE NEW MISTRESS. 


103 


so long as we stand to the post that has been allotted to us ? 
All cannot fight, some must be inactive, ready to march, 
but stationary till the time comes. The great thing is to 
serve with cheerful obedience, to be ready, and always on 
the watch. We each have our place — a place that no one 
else can fill ; and if we neglect our small duties because 
they look so small, we shall hardly be fit to undertake the 
greater ones, if ever we are called upon to do so. I was all 
for great duties, for active service once, but I have learned 
to be content with very little ones. I find them quite 
enough to task all my skill and care. It was very vain of 
me to think myself cut out to play a great part. A small 
one is quite large enough.” 

He was talking quietly and dreamily, with a smile upon 
his lips and a far-away light in his eyes. Hilda was filled 
with a vague uneasiness. 

4 4 You are not worse, Kingsley? You are much better. 
I wish you would not talk so : it frightens me so when you 
do.” 

“What does? Are you frightened because I am con- 
tent instead of being restless and dissatisfied?” 

44 I don’t know ; I think I should be more easy about 
you if you were more restless and dissatisfied. Kingsley, 
why is it that you are so different from us ? Why is it that 
nothing ever seems to touch you ? ” 

He did not answer ; his eyes had fixed themselves upon 
the opposite wall, and Hilda’s eyes, following the direction 
of his glance, looked straight at a beautiful engraving of 
Holman Hunt’s “Light of the World” — the Man of Sor- 
rows, with the crown of thorns and the light about His 
head, standing and knocking at the door. 

For many, many months that picture had been before 


104 


JOINT GUARDIANS* 


Kingsley’s eyes. It had come to have for him a language 
of its own. 

Hilda looked at the picture, and then at her brother’s 
face. She had been with him already almost to the gates 
of death, had nursed him through two trying illnesses ; she 
could not but have seen a good deal of his inner life, and 
yet the reserved silence upon those deepest questions that 
must have haunted both minds had hardly been broken b}’ 
so much as a word. Hilda had felt a great deal — wonder, 
awe, and reverence had mingled strangely with her pas- 
sionate love for her brother. She had looked up to him as to 
a being who lived a life far above hers, who breathed a dif- 
ferent atmosphere ; but it had seldom entered into her mind 
to try and reach that level herself. Sometimes she was not 
certain that she even wished it. Such steadfast, uncom- 
plaining calmness and serenity seemed altogether too for- 
eign to her nature. 

Now, however, tossed about by tumultuous passions of 
anger and jealousy, haunted by vague fears which she could 
not have put into words, and rendered restless and misera- 
ble by the discord of the present and the uncertainty of 
the future, she felt an aching longing for some anchorage, 
some quiet haven where peace and rest were to be found, 
some rock of defence between herself and her many foes 
within and without, some tithe of that peace that was so 
plainly stamped upon her brother’s face. 

She looked at the picture on the wall and then at Kings- 
ley, and rare tears swam suddenly in her eyes. 

He saw them, and touched her eyes with his fingers, say- 
ing, softly, and half playfully : — 

“ Why, little sister?” 

She put her arms about his neck and clung to him very 


THE NEW MISTRESS. 


105 


closely. Was it his voice, or one in her own heart, that 
whispered the next words : — 

“ Behold, I stand at the door, and knock” ? 

There was a deep silence in the room, the silence of a 
sympathy that needs no words in which to express itself. 

Then came the sound of a step outside, and Hilda drew 
herself quickly away into a shadowy corner of the room. 
Kingsley pulled himself to his feet, for it was Mrs. Tempest 
who had come in. 

She looked for a moment at the pair, and there was a cer- 
tain constraint in her manner as she began to speak. She 
could always get on with Kingsley, whom she really liked, 
but Hilda’s presence was a difficulty. 

“You have perhaps been hearing,” she began, and then 
she paused, and Kingsley took up the sentence in the easiest 
way possible. 

“That this room is to be made into a studio? Yes; I 
think it will answer the purpose excellently until the sun 
gets round ; but of course you will not do much painting in 
the afternoon : you will be too much occupied. I have been 
turning matters over in my mind, and I think it could be 
made into a charming atelier with aesthetic hangings, and 
Japanese decorations, and all the artistic settings so much 
in vogue just now. You must let me help you in the meta- 
morphosis ; I have spent so much time here lately that I feel 
I ought to have a very good notion what would suit it best. 
You will let me act as a sort of major-domo, won’t you? It 
is a charity to give a lazy man something to do.” 

Mrs. Tempest’s face, which had been rather cold and 
hard at first, softened into its pleasantest look. 

“ You do not object to giving up the room ? ” 

“ On the contrary, I think it is an e^gellent thing for ms 


106 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


to be routed out of it. I have got into shamefully lazy ways 
and want shaking up. It will be doing me a good turn to 
expel me from my sanctum. Hilda and Montague have 
encouraged me so in idleness that there is no saying where 
they would have landed me at last.” 

Strange to say, Mrs. Tempest felt far less disposed to 
take possession of the room, now that it was so willingly 
accorded, than she had done when Hilda had fought for its 
possession. 

. “I thought you might find the smoking-room a pleasant 
substitute. You know I should be very sorry to put you to 
any inconvenience.” 

Kingsley’s honest smile beamed out over his face. 

u Indeed you need not be in the least afraid of that. I 
am a capital hand at taking care of myself. I do not in the 
least require a private state-room of my own any longer. I 
object to be looked upon as an invalid now.” 

He looked straight at Mrs. Tempest as he spoke, and 
there was something in his glance that awoke within her a 
tenderness of feeling by no means usual. 

“ Well, my dear boy,” she said, warmly, “ I can only say 
that I hope you will not allow my invasion of your room to 
be the means of expelling you altogether. We shall not 
disturb one another, I think ; and if ever you want to rest, 
there will always be a sofa ‘in a quiet corner, and I will 
guarantee that you shall not be disturbed. Until you begin 
to look a little less pale and thin, we shall not be able 
quite to cross you off the sick-list. Your face would make 
a capital study for my picture of — ” She stopped short 
a moment, and then added, “ of Sir Philip Sidney.” She 
had been going to say, “the death of Sir Philip Sidney,” 
but had recollected herself in time. 


THE NEW MISTRESS. 


107 


Kingsley laughed outright. 

“ Some day, if I feel equal to it, I will try and oblige you 
by posing as a wounded hero. You are very good to give 
me an open invitation. I shall certainly avail myself of it 
from time to time. There is a fascination in watching any- 
thing grow, particularly a picture.” 

Mrs. Tempest did not stay very long. She could have 
enjoyed talking with Kingsley alone, but she was not easy 
under the intent gaze of Hilda’s dark eyes. When the door 
had closed behind the retreating figure, the girl sprang up 
and took her brother’s hands tight in hers. 

“ Kingsley, Kingsley, how do you do it? ” 

“ Do what, Hilda?” 

“ Everything — give up without seeming to — smooth over 
rough places — take all the bitterness and hatefulness out of 
everything ? ” 

He smiled and stroked her hair. 

“ Is it not a better way after all than the other, and an 
easier one too ? ” 

“For you, perhaps. I could not do it. Kingsley, what 
is the secret? How do you manage it?” 

He laughed a little. 

“If I do it at all, it is by a very simple rule, — only by 
trying to think of other people first. You don’t know what 
an easy way that is of getting over difficulties, little sister. 
I make a great mess of it often, but that is my fault. The 
rule is always right.” 

She looked at him and Eeaved a deep sigh. 

“ I am afraid I shall never be like you, Kingsley.” 

“Well, that need not trouble you so very deeply, you 
can aim higher than that.” 

He spoke playfully, yet there was a serious light in his 
eyes, which she met steadily. 


108 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ You know what I mean, Kingsley. I do not even 
know where to begin.” 

“Begin at once with the very nearest thing. Join with 
me in making Mrs. Tempest very welcome to this room, and 
don’t help Montague to abuse her for taking it. That is 
simple, is it not? ” 

“ Simple, perhaps, but difficult,” she answered. 

“Yet you will do it,” he said, looking straight at her, 
“ for my sake? ” 

“ For your sake I will try.” 

And Hilda kept her word. It was perhaps the first battle 
of that kind that she had ever fought. 



CHAPTER Yin. 


KINGSLEY. 



.HE next time that Venice Edgeler was preparing to 
take her solitary ride she was a good deal aston- 
ished to see Kingsley on horseback, evidently 
awaiting her approach. 

“You must excuse me for mounting first instead of 
waiting upon you,” he said ; “ but I can only get up by the 
horse-block now.” 

“Are you going to ride with me?” asked Venice, her 
languid face lighting with pleasure. 

“If you will allow me that pleasure.” 

‘ 4 Are you sure you ought ? ” 

“ I have my doctor’s permission to try, and I feel sure 
you will be kind enough to accommodate the pace to a 
lame man’s feelings. You cannot think what a pleasure it 
is to be in the saddle once again.” 

Venice had mounted by this time, and the two moved 
leisurely on together. 

“ Why did you not go with Hilda and Montague?” she 
asked, looking up at him curiously. 

He laughed a little. 

“ If you saw the pace they usually ride you would hardly 
need to ask. There was a time when I loved those break- 
neck gallops across country better than anything, but they 

[ 109 ] 




110 JOINT GUARDIANS. 

would not suit me now. Besides, I wanted to have the 
pleasure of escorting you. Have you ever ridden along the 
sands when the tide is out ? ” 

“ No, never.” 

“ Shall we go now? Do you know I have not seen the 
sea at close quarters since last July? The tide will be just 
right, and it is going down. You will be able to enjoy a 
good gallop along the sands, if you would like it.” 

4 4 And you too ? ” 

44 1 must see about that by and by,” he answered, smiling. 
44 At any rate, I shall enjoy watching you.” 

She looked up at him again in that quick, questioning 
way. 

44 Kingsley, what is it makes you so different from the 
others ? ” 

He looked amused. 

44 Am I different? Well, for the matter of that, we are 
none of us cut quite on the same pattern, I suppose.” 

44 No ; but you are quite different from all the rest. 
Don’t you know — you cannot help knowing — the sort 
of antagonism there is in the house? Mamma is very tire- 
some and irritating, and Hilda and Montague of course 
resent it. I come in for my share of odium, and it is quite 
natural I should. I can’t think why you don’t join in the 
general feeling, why you seem to be everybody’s friend, 
whether there is reason for it or not. You did n’t even 
resent having your room taken away. Most people would 
have been furious.” 

' “ Ah, it is a great mistake to be furious over anything ; 

besides, your mother is more than welcome to the room, and 
surely she has the first claim. Let us turn off down this 
lane to the sea. Just look at the primroses and anemones 


KINGSLEY. 


Ill 


in the wood! Ah, there is no season like the spring-time, 
after all ! ” 

He looked about him with a strange light in his eyes, that 
Venice was not slow to observe, although she could not read 
its meaning. It was a very lovely day. The sun shone in 
through the bare branches of the trees, glancing upon the 
flower-gemmed turf and moss with soft golden radiance. 
The birds sang joyously overhead as they only sing in 
spring-time ; there was in the air that indescribable spring- 
like feeling that seems to whisper all sorts of tender 
messages of hope and promise. More distantly came the 
ceaseless murmur from the sea, telling its own tale of the 
great eternity beyond. Strange thoughts rose up in Kings- 
ley’s heart as he rode on silently that lovely spring day. For 
a few moments he forgot his companion, forgot all but the 
grand and solemn sense of wonder and awe that over 
shadowed him like a dream. Life and death, sunshine and 
cloud, the passing present and the eternal future, were all 
strangely blended at that moment. It seemed as if a light 
not of this world shone for a moment upon and around him, 
as if some grand perception of the infinite were suddenly 
vouchsafed to him. The world around him was awakening 
from its long winter’s sleep, full of the glorious new life that 
proves so unanswerably the power of life over death. What 
did this joyous awakening tell to him — to one who believed 
himself to be slowly approaching the shadowy valle}', the 
dim, dark region whence no traveller returns ? Did it fill him 
with vague, tender sorrow and regret for all he must leave 
behind? Or did it speak to him in silent language of strong 
consolation of that glorious, universal resurrection but dimly 
foreshadowed here — of that great, glad, solemn day when 
time shall cease to be, when death shall at last be swallowed 
up in everlasting victory ? 


112 


JOINT* GUARDIANS. 


Kingsley’s face gave its own answer to these questions. 
A smile almost of triumph not unmingled with awe passed 
over his face ; and as a sudden turn in the winding path 
brought them within full view of the boundless ocean he 
suddenly and unconsciously reined in his horse and took off 
his hat, sitting bareheaded in the sunshine, his eyes shining 
with a strange light, and a smile hovering round his lips. 

Venice paused too, looking at her companion fixedly, a 
little awe creeping over her face as she did so. 

“That man will die,” she said to herself. “I don’t 
believe any one ever looked like that and got well.” 

Then Kingsley recollected himself and his companion, 
and turned to her with a smile. 

44 You must forgive me for my neglect. I forgot every- 
thing in the pleasure of being out again and seeing old 
favorite haunts : everything is so beautiful to-day.” 

4 4 Is it? I suppose so. I don’t think I notice that sort 
of thing very much. 4 Eyes and no eyes,’ you know.” 

4t I think your eyes see a great deal,” answered Kingsley ; 
and she* looked up at him with something of intensity and 
reverence in her glance. 

44 Yours too,” she said ; then they rode on together. 

44 Here are the sands ; are they not smooth and tempting? 
Are you for a gallop ?” 

44 Are you?” 

44 1 should like to try one at least. What a keen fresh 
breeze ! Does it not make the horses long to be off ? Well, 
shall we give them their heads ? ” 

44 Ah, that was splendid!” cried Venice, as they reined 
up at length about two miles from the spot where they had 
started. 44 1 never thought I should enjoy a gallop so much. 
It has not hurt you, Kingsley ? ” 


I 














KINGSLEY. 


113 


“ I enjoyed it immensely. It seemed like old times once 
more. Now go on, and let me stand and watch you and 
Sultan. It is a pleasure to see him go, he does enjoy it so.” 

Venice looked up at him and then did his bidding. 
Kingsley watched her with interest, despite the upright 
line that showed between his eyes. Then he looked out 
over the sea, the dreaminess coming back again, the strange 
beauty of the great tossing sheet of water acting like a 
charm upon him. 

Venice joined him by and by, flushed with exercise and 
delighted with her gallop, and they rode home together 
quietly by the lanes. 

Mrs. Tempest happened to be in the hall as they came 
in together, and looked at her daughter in some surprise. 

“ How bright you look, Venice ! ” 

“I have enjoyed my ride to-day, mamma. Kingsley 
came with me. We had a gallop on the sands.” 

“That was very good of you, Kingsley,” said Mrs. 
Tempest, gratefully. 

“ The pleasure was on my side,” answered Kingsley ; “ I 
don’t know when I have enjoyed anything so much.” 

“ Mr. and Miss St. John are in the reception-room with 
your brother and sister, I believe,” said Mrs. Tempest ; and 
Kingsley turned to Venice with a smile and asked : — 

“ Shall we go there, then ? ” 

It was not often that Venice had felt herself included 
like this in the life of the younger Tempests, and she could 
not help feeling pleased at the suggestion, though she would 
have been much too proud to go in unasked. She had seen 
the St. Johns when they had called on Mrs. Tempest, and 
was quite ready to renew the acquaintance. She was be- 
ginning to find the life at Chandos Cedars a little dull. 

8 


114 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Mervyn and Montague were pl^|ng dominos, Clare and 
Hilda looking at them and talking^confidentially together. 
Kingsley’s appearance was greeted with a general exclama- 
tion of welcome. 

“ Where have you been, King ? ” asked Montague. “I’ve 
hunted the whole house for you.” 

“ Venice and I have been riding on the sands together,” 
answered Kingsley, as if it were the most natural occupa- 
tion in the world. 

“ Riding ! You ! Kingsley ! 99 

He stood smiling calmly at the various exclamations of 
astonishment and reproof levelled at him, and then said, 
with a humorous gleam in his eye : — 

“We had a very good time, didn’t we, Venice? You 
see what a thing it is to be in leading-strings. I should 
have got nobody else to be my companion.” 

“ Nor I,” said Venice, very quietly ; and then she turned 
to shake hands with Mervyn and his sister. 

“Are you sure you ought to have done it?” said Hilda, 
with an undertone of compunction in her voice. 

“ Quite sure. I asked Colquhoun. It is all right.” 

“You might have let us have the pleasure of sharing 
your first ride,” she added, a little reproachfully ; and her 
color flew up as she heard his answer : — 

“ You always have a companion, and Venice has none.” 

“ You have quite come out of your shell, Kingsley,” said 
Clare, turning round with a smile ; “it is like old times to 
see you going about like one of us.” 

Mervyn and Montague returned to their game, Kingsley 
sat down to watch it, and the three girls talked together 
with more ease than might have been expected ; but Clare 
was always easy to get on with, and Hilda felt half remorse- 


KINGSLEY. 


115 


ful for haying neglect^fcVenice as she had done heretofore. 
She was conscious that the antipathy she felt towards her 
was unjust ; had she not been Mrs. Tempest’s daughter 
she might almost have liked her. 

“ Would you like a game, Venice?” she asked, when the 
closely contested match between the two men was over. 

“ I hardly know how to play,” answered the girl, looking 
pleased nevertheless at the suggestion. 

“ Never mind, I’ll show you, if you will let me. You 
shall play against Clare, and she will give you twenty to 
start with. You are rather handicapped by your habit, but 
never mind that for once.” 

The girls were pleased to play. Hilda took Venice 
under her protection. Montague superintended Clare’s 
play. A warmer, easier feeling came over them all. Ven- 
ice was conscious that she had never been so near to liking 
her new kinsfolk as she was at this moment. 

Kingsley looked much pleased, and Hilda was quite con- 
scious of this. The smile he gave her was all the reward 
she needed for the effort she had made. 

Mervyn’s eyes followed her about as she moved ; he sat 
beside Kingsley, thoughtfully pulling his mustache. Pres- 
ently he asked, in a low tone : — 

“ Things going better here?” 

“ I hope they will do so. Of course it is difficult and 
strained at first : that is enevitable ; but it might have been 
so much worse. There is much to like, I am sure of it, 
both in Mrs. Tempest and the girl.” 

“The girl has a curious face, but not a bad one, I 
think,” said Mervyn, reflectively. “Yet Hilda looks as if 
her life were made rather a burden to her.” 

“ It has come hardly on Hilda, you see,” said Kingsley, 


116 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“more hardly in some ways than |ipon any one else. I 
believe she will come out splendidly in time.” 

“As she always does,” answered Mervyn, with a sort of 
sigh that his companion well understood* “ Hilda is won' 
derful, I think.” 

He fell into a revery then, watching Hilda unconsciously 
out of his sleepy gray eyes. He had known her from her 
childhood, and had loved her as long as he had known her, 
yet, with a very uncommon power of self-control, he had 
kept his feeling to himself, knowing that her heart was given 
to another ; and no one in the world but Kingsley had ever 
guessed his secret. 

Kingsley was glad to sit still and be quiet. The flush 
had faded from his face, leaving it unusually pale, but he 
sat out of the light in a corner and watched the game with a 
certain languid interest. 

Mervyn glanced at him presently, and asked : — 

“You are not overdoing it, are you, Kingsley? Gerald 
does n’t altogether like this new line of yours.” 

“ He sanctions it at least. Oh, no ! I take very good care 
of myself. I begin to think I am better for exerting myself 
more.” 

“You don’t look strikingly better.” 

“Never mind the looks; they will come later, perhaps. 
I am less lame every day, that is something at least.” 
Mervyn still eyed him a little suspiciously. 

“ Don’t overdo it, though. You remember what hap- 
pened after going to London?” 

“ I don’t intend doing anything like that. I am less 
ambitious than I was. By the by, I should like to see our 
little orphan cousin, Phyllis; she has arrived at the War- 
rens, has she not ? ” 


KINGSLEY. 


117 


“Yes, and is a great- favorite there already. She is a 
very pretty, charming little girl, but quite different from 
any other Tempest that I have ever seen.” 

* ‘ I have hardly seen any of them yet ; I had just got to 
know them by name and distinguish one from the other last 
July, and I have not seen one of them since. I should like 
to improve acquaintance. Hilda must ask them all to tea 
some day soon. What do you think of them ? ” 

“ They are exceedingly clever, every one of them. I 
have the three boys to coach, and uncommonly precocious 
youngsters they are. The girls are every bit as clever too. 
I think Ursula has a remarkable intellect.” 

“And the little new cousin — what of her? Is she a 
prodigy too ? ” 

“ I do not know much about that. We have had holidays 
ever since her arrival. I often meet her with her cousins 
wandering over the moors or along the coast, with her face 
like sunshine, full of eager delight about everything, but I 
have not advanced very far yet. She is a little shy with me, 
I think.” 

“ But she is happy in her other guardian’s family? You 
know it was doubtful for a time if she were not to come here.” 

“ She is perfectly happy where she is. The girls treat 
her like a sister, the boys are her very devoted slaves. Your 
uncle’s house is one in which it is peculiarly easy to get on. 
It is a land of liberty, and this little girl, who has been 
brought up with the extreme of strictness and propriety, 
simply revels in her freedom now. As Mrs. Tempest says, 
her happiness is quite infectious, a pleasure to watch.” 

“ You like Mrs. Tempest, I think? ” 

“ Exceedingly. She is a woman all must respect, and 
whom most would love*” 


118 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ I have never seen her,” said Kingsley. 

“No? Well, she hardly ever comes out. They shun 
rather than court society ; and of course this is a house more 
difficult for her to enter than any other. She has called 
occasionally, I believe, but she is the last person to go where 
she felt herself not wanted.” 

Kingsley made a sign of comprehension. 

“ Quite so,” he said ; and added, after a pause of musing, 
“ I should like to see the end of this long estrangement. 
It seems so needless, so purposeless. Is the feeling on their 
side very strong ? ” 

Mervyn smiled a little. 

“ There is a good deal of natural prejudice, and a great 
deal of misapprehension.” 

“ So I suppose ; it is only natural.” He looked a little 
amused. “ I should like to go there in disguise, as used 
to be the fashion in the good old days of romance, and see 
if I could not make my way somehow. I will go across 
some day, I think, and see Mrs. Tempest. I should like to 
have a talk with her at least.” 

“ You would have no difficulty in making your way in 
that quarter: Mrs. Tempest is one of the sweetest women 
I know.” 

Kingsley fell into a quiet fit of musing that lasted till the 
gathering darkness put an end to the game. The guests 
departed at length, carrying Hilda and Montague away with 
them to dine at the Lodge, and Venice went away to relieve 
herself of her habit. 

“I should like to make friends at that house,” said 
Kingsley to himself. “ There is something interesting in 
what Mervyn says about them. If he likes them, it is pre- 
sumable that we should, and this new cousin ought to make 


KINGSLEY. 


119 


a link. Hilda must ask them over here some day, — or Mrs. 
Tempest, — and I will make a voyage of discovery to the 
Warrens on my own account, now that I can ride again,” — 
he smiled a little to himself at the idea, — “and see what I 
can accomplish there. They have evidently got hold of ex- 
aggerated ideas about our feelings. I do not think even the 
General really has any wish to hold quite aloof. Time has 
deadened the old sense of hurt feeling, and if Mrs. Tempest 
is anything like what Mervyn describes, she would disarm 
him very quickly, and the whole thing would be settled. 
His little ward ought to help matters to a friendly conclu- 
sion. There is no getting out of that question of joint 
guardianship.” 

Dinner at the Cedars that night was less formal and 
silent than usual. Venice showed more animation, Mrs. 
Tempest was very gracious, and showed plainly that she 
could be an exceedingly attractive hostess when she wished 
to please. Gen. Tempest was pleased to hear conversation 
flowing so easily, and was inclined to look with more favor- 
able eyes now upon this second son of his, who had never 
been the favorite, than ever in his life before. He saw 
plainly enough that it was Kingsley’s wish to smooth away 
difficulties and make things easy and pleasant for all. Mon- 
tague and Hilda were not behaving ill, — their father could 
not reasonably find fault with them,— but there was never- 
theless a marked difference between their conduct and 
Kingsley’s. 

“So you are going into the Church, are you not, Kings- 
ley ? ” asked Mrs. Tempest, when dessert was placed upon the 
table. “ I hear you propose leading a very devoted life some- 
where in the East End. I hope you will be in no hurry to leave 
us, for we should miss you very much from the Cedars.” 


120 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


He smiled brightly. Kingsley was very unassuming, and 
was always grateful to people for liking him. 

“No; I am not in any hurry,” he answered, slowly. 
“ Things have changed rather these last months. I have 
had a good many plans knocked on the head, and am in no 
great hurry to form fresh ones.” 

Venice looked at him keenly and quickly, but he was not 
aware of her scrutiny ; he had turned towards his father, 
who now spoke. 

“Well, my boy, I am not sorry that that particular plan 
has been knocked on the head, as you call it. Without in 
the least understanding the work you had thought of under- 
taking, I can’t help feeling you were a cut above it.” 

“Or it was a cut above me, perhaps,” was Kingsley’s 
rejoinder, spoken with a sort of quiet humor characteristic 
of him. “ There are two sides to every question, you know. 
At least, I am afraid it may not be for me, — at any rate, 
just yet awhile.” 

“I am very glad,” said Venice. “I should not like to 
think of you toiling in those disgusting places. You are not 
fit for it.” 

“Perhaps not,” he answered, catching her eye and smil- 
ing in a way that made the color flush into her face. “ I 
think it quite probable.” 

“You know I did not mean that,” she said in a low 
voice, as he held open the door for her and her mother 
to pass out. 

“ Do you know anything about Montague’s plans? ” asked 
Gen. Tempest, as Kingsley returned to his seat. He spoke 
a little uneasily, as if conscious that he had given some 
ground of complaint to his elder son. “ Of course, under 
old arrangements the Cedars was always to have been his 


KINGSLEY. 


121 


home, whether he married or remained single. But I sup- 
pose, as things are now, he could hardly bring home a 
wife.” 

“ Hardly,” answered Kingsley, smiling. 

“ He has no idea of marrying?” 

“Not that I know of ; and I am sure I should know 
he had.” 

‘ ‘ I once hoped he might make a match with Clare 
St. John. She is a very sweet girl, and has some fortune 
too ; but I am afraid he will not do so now.” 

Kingsley shook his head. 

“I think not. We are all fond of Clare — of all the 
party at the Lodge ; but I don’t think either she or Mon- 
tague has ever thought of falling in love.” 

“ I wish Montague would marry,” said the General. “ I 
should like to see him with a good wife and a happy home 
of his own.” 

“ So should I.” 

“He should have Langbridge if he did, — that little prop- 
erty of your mother’s in the next county, — I always meant 
it for the first of my sons who required an independent 
establishment. In the long run it will be yours, Kingsley.” 

Kingsley smiled, glanced at his father, hesitated a mo- 
ment, but did not speak. 

“ A country gentleman’s life is what you are cut out for ; 
that is very plain,” continued Gen. Tempest. “ I doubt 
your having strength for anything very arduous. You were 
a very delicate little chap, I remember, and we never thought 
we should rear you ; but you picked up suddenly, and grew 
as strong, it seemed, as Montague. I ’m not sure, though, 
if you have the constitution he has. I think, after the les- 
sons you have had, you had better content yourself with an 


122 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 




idle life. There is no necessity for you to work, if you do 
not care to do so.” 

“ Just so,” answered Kingsley, and let the subject drop, 
rising soon afterwards to join the ladies in the drawing- 
room. 

“ I want to show you my studio, Kingsley,” said his step- 
mother. “ It looks its best, I think, lighted up. I have 
adopted nearly all your suggestions, and the effect is admi- 
rable. Will you come and see ? ” 

Mrs. Tempest led the way, Venice and Kingsley follow- 
ing. The room was brightly lighted, and the rich hangings 
and fittings were shown up to the best possible advantage. 
The effect was gorgeous and magnificent — a little bizarre 
perhaps, but not more so than became an abode of art. 
Kingsley hardly knew his room as he looked round it with a 
smile. 

“It is very pretty,” he said; “you have made it like 
an Oriental palace. It looks almost too beautiful to work 
in.” 

Venice glanced at him with a little satirical smile in her 
eyes, mumuring in a low voice, “I suppose that is about the 
last purpose it will be required for.” 

He could not help smiling ; but Mrs. Tempest did not 
read the purport of the smile. 

“You like it?” 

“It is very beautiful,” he answered; and then Venice 
laughed. 

“ Kingsley and I are stanch conservatives, mamma,” she 
said. “ New ways may be very fine and grand, but we like 
old ones best.” 

Mrs. Tempest smiled indulgently. 

“ You dQ not think it improved, evidently?” 


KINGSLEY. 


123 


U I liked the old way best,” she answered. “It looks 
now like a show room at Liberty’s. It used to be a place 
that had been lived in when Kingsley had it — the sort of 
room I like, with a kind of language and expression of its 
own.” 

“What an odd idea!” said Mrs. Tempest, carelessly. 
“ I think you like saying odd thiDgs, Venice.” 

But Venice looked up at Kingsley, and said : — 

“ Do you think it odd? ” 

He laughed, and shook his head. 

“ I understand, of course.” 

“ I knew you would understand. You could not help it. 
I don’t think you admire all this a bit more than I do.” 

“I admire it very much, on the contrary ; and I mean to 
take advantage of your mother’s kind permission to come 
here sometimes and study the progress of her pictures.” 

“Do,” answered Mrs. Tempest, warmly. “You will 
always be very welcome.” 

“ Will he ? ” asked Venice of herself. “ That remains to 
be proved. I doubt if Kingsley will long remain in such 
favor. He is hardly what one might call in mamma’s style.” 



CHAPTER IX, 


COUSINS. 



ERVYN ST. JOHN had not been mistaken when 
he had expressed it as his opinion that Phyllis 
was very happy in her new home. She was so 
happy there that sometimes, when she looked back to her 
former quiet existence with her great-aunts, it seemed to her 
as if she had never really lived at all until she had left them 
to join the fuller family life in her uncle’s house. 

On the face of things it might seem as if the life led by 
a family in a lonely farm-house on a moor could hardly be 
fraught with much variety or cheerfulness ; but, however 
monotonous the days might appear from an outsider’s point 
of view, they were crowded with vivid interests to those who 
dwelt within the charmed circle ; and Phyllis was learning, 
with every week as it passed, new thoughts, new feelings, 
new points of sight, and finding that the world was a much 
wider place than she had once imagined, and a place filled 
with strange possibilities both of sorrow and joy. 

So far everything was couleur de rose to Phyllis. She 
liked her cousins very much, and was a favorite with them 
all from the first ; she loved her aunt with a sort of adoring 
love that had an inexpressible charm. The boys she thought 
perfectly delightful ; Lancelot was so clever, Ted, the 
Monkey, so irrepressibly comic, and Cecil so dry and droll, 
tm] 



COUSINS. 


125 


that she was never tired of their society ; whilst Beryl was 
already like a sister, admitted to the largest share of her 
confidence, and to Ursula she looked up with a mingled 
reverence and admiration that was curious in one girl towards 
another barely two years her senior. 

But then Ursula’s character was peculiar, and it differed a 
good deal from that of any of her brothers or sisters. For 
one thing, she was a good deal more reserved and was less 
easy to know than they were, and her enthusiasm for study 
and her very remarkable talents seemed to raise her to a 
somewhat higher level than the rest ; and, although she never 
arrogated to herself^ the least superiority, it was evident that 
both sister and brothers looked up to her and thought highly 
of her and her opinions. 

It was some little time before Phyllis felt as much at 
home with her as she did with the others ; she stood some- 
what in awe of her attainments, and also of her quiet enthu- 
siasm for study. Phyllis wished to emulate her cousins, and 
was eager to join them in a course of reading, and to try 
and make up all deficiencies in her previous education ; but 
she could not settle down all at once to hard work, and was 
undeniably more attracted by long rambles over the moors or 
along the coast with the boys than by quiet hours of study 
in the flagged kitchen appropriated to that purpose. For 
three weeks after her arrival the boys were having holiday, 
and nothing pleased them more than to take long excursions 
to show to Phyllis all the beauties of the surrounding country. 
Beryl was always of the party on these occasions, and Ursula 
frequently ; but often she would elect to stay at home with 
her books, and Phyllis would look with a sort of awe into the 
serious, thoughtful face, and wonder what mines of informa- 
tion lay hidden away behind that broad brow and those earnest, 


126 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


luminous eyes. Ursula always appeared to live somewhat in 
a world of her own, and it was not all at once that Phyllis 
could learn what manner of world it was. 

The boys, however, were delightful, and there was no 
mystery about them. They all vied with one another in pay- 
ing little attentions to Phyllis, and she could hardly have felt 
more perfectly at home with them had they been her own 
brothers. Lancelot made her charming little sketches from 
her favorite points of view, and Ted framed them and hung 
them in her room. Cecil discovered that she could play with 
the skill and taste of a real musician, and read at sight with 
ease and accuracy, so that those two had at once a bond in 
common, and many were the hours they spent in another of the 
big nondescript ground-floor rooms in which the farm-house 
abounded, playing together on piano and violin all the music 
that Cecil could lay hands upon. His taste was severely 
classical, amusingly so for a boy of but thirteen years ; but 
he designated everything else as “ trash,” and swept it away 
with the lofty scorn that sat oddly upon his small thin face 
and diminutive figure. Phyllis soon discovered that Cecil 
was an oddity, and, despite the disparity in years, she found 
his company very entertaining. 

The “ workroom,” as it was designated, where the practis- 
ing piano stood, well out of earshot of the studies, was a 
favorite haunt for both of them. There was a wide, com- 
fortable, old-fashioned sofa-couch there, where any one could 
enjoy a book or a nap, curled up amongst the shabby cush- 
ions. There was a pretty view from the latticed windows, 
and there was the piano — a constant source of pleasure. 
Cecil, who was not robust, like his brothers and sisters, and. 
Phyllis, who was more fond of taking her ease occasionally 
than her cousins seemed to be, frequented this room a good 


COUSINS. 


127 


deal. Cecil had a hammock, which he could swing across a 
recess, and Phyllis liked to sit in the window-seat and enjoy 
the view ; and after they had practised their music they would 
indulge in a confidential chat, in which the girl learned from 
her communicative young cousin every item of family intelli- 
gence of which he was possessed — which was saying a good 
deal, for Cecil had remarkably sharp ears and a peculiarly 
retentive memory. 

She heard much about the other Tempests at the Cedars, 
and was confirmed in her impression that they were very 
proud, dull, and unsociable people. Nevertheless she was 
always interested in hearing about them, though she would 
have found it hard to say why ; and in church — the only 
place where she ever saw them — she could seldom keep her 
eyes or her thoughts away from them for long. 

The General and the new Mrs. • Tempest and Miss 
Edgeler appeared in due course, and were keenly criticised 
by their relatives at the Warrens. Miss Edgeler was pro- 
nounced to be rather nice-looking, and Mrs. Tempest 
decidedly handsome, but awfully proud ; and a good deal of 
laughing discussion went on as to how all the haughty 
spirits contrived to assimilate, and how far their pride 
would allow them to show antagonism either by word or 
deed. 

Montague and Hilda were said to look colder and 
haughtier every week ; but Phyllis was not certain that she 
could detect any change. She always felt, when she saw 
them, as if she might find it possible to like them ; but at 
other times she fell into her cousins’ way of feeling, and 
was certain she could find nothing in common with them. 

Kingsley began to appear occasionally at church at this 
time, and his face interested her a good deal. She could 


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not but notice that every one spoke rather differently of him, 
as if he at least had some points in his favor. Ursula, 
though always a'little disdainful where the Tempests of the 
Cedars were concerned, was ready to allow that Kingsley 
had behaved fairly well until he had been laid aside bv ill- 
ness ; but she generally added that she was rather tired of 
all the fuss that had been made over him, and was evidently 
quite convinced that anybody else would have got well in 
half the time that he had been over it. 

“People who have nothing to do but to think of them- 
selves,” she would say, “ always do get ill, and never know 
how to get well again. If Kingsley had had his own living 
to earn, he would not have been able to give way like this, 
and let Hilda make an invalid of him.” 

Phyllis always believed that Ursula knew better than 
anybody else, and accepted her verdicts as final. Never- 
theless, something in Kingsley’s face haunted her from time 
to time, and she could not help wishing that she might some 
day become acquainted with the family of her other guar- 
dian. She did not wish in the least to dwell beneath his 
roof, the bare idea of such a thing was terrible, but she felt 
a little hurt at the way in which they ignored her, and rather 
wished to get the ice broken between them and herself. 

Hilda had called, it is true, but Phyllis had been out, 
and when she and Ursula returned the call at the Cedars 
none of the ladies were at home. After that matters 
seemed to come to a standstill, and it was not until May 
was well advanced that an invitation was received by Phyllis 
and her cousins to come and have tea at the Cedars. 

This was the first invitation that had been received by 
any one at the Warrens, and it excited some little commo- 
tion. Ursula looked very cold and disdainful, and would 


COUSINS. 


129 


have liked it utterly declined because the mother was not 
asked. Mrs. Tempest, however, would not hear of such a 
thing, and at length it was decided that the three girls 
should go with Lancelot. Ted was not to be trusted, they 
all said : he would be sure to be up to some monkey pranks, 
and disgrace them utterly in the eyes of their irreproach- 
able cousins. Cecil was too young to pay calls ; but Lance- 
lot had the better manners, and was elected as the escort for 
the girls. Ursula would have preferred to stay at home, 
but Beryl declined to go without her, and Phyllis looked so 
terrified at the idea of being unsupported, that Mrs. Tem- 
pest settled the question by saying that she wished both her 
daughters to accept their cousins’ kind invitation. 

Phyllis was a good deal more excited by this prospec- 

¥ 

tive visit to the Cedars than she would have cared to confess. 
She thought much about it, wondered how it would go off, 
and speculated how she would like her cousins when she had 
met them face to face. She was pleased with the idea of 
seeing them and their home, and felt sure she should enjoy 
her little visit, and this certainty perhaps made her feel all 
the more acutely the disappointment that followed. 

The Cedars was very still and quiet when they arrived ; 
the garden and grounds looked strangely formal in their 
perfect order and trimness, and as Phyllis entered the cool, 
dim house she was conscious of an odd sensation of chill 
depression, as if the stately formality would crush the life 
out of her. They were ushered into the great drawing- 
room, where Mrs. Tempest and her daughter received them. 
There was no cordiality in the greeting they met, only cool 
politeness, which seemed colder to these girls than it would 
have done to those more used to the ways of general soci- 
ety. Hilda was sent for, but she did not appear at once, 
9 


130 


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and when she came it was with a curious preoccupation of 
manner that made conversation an absolute effort to all. 
Phyllis could not get on with her a bit. She felt frozen up 
and tongue-tied. She wished she had never come, or that 
she could get up and go. 

Tea was brought in, which made a little break, and as 
they were drinking it the door opened and Kingsley ap- 
peared. Phyllis hoped things would be better now, having 
heard of his power of making things pleasant ; but it did 
not seem as if he were in a pleasant mood to-day, for after 
he had spoken to them all he sat down a little apart, with a 
sort of frown upon his face, and hardly said a word. Mon- 
tague came in later, but although at first he seemed to exert 
himself to talk, he presently looked at his brother, went 
over and spoked few words to him in a low voice, after 
which they went away together, and came back no more. 
Hilda’s efforts at conversation were more and more labored. 
Mrs. Tempest came to her aid, but not very successfully, 
whilst Venice only talked to Lancelot. There was no sug- 
gestion made of showing them the gardens, or of making 
them at home in any way, and after three miserable quarters 
of an hour Ursula rose and asked for the carriage. No 
attempt was made to detain them. It almost seemed as if 
their hosts tried to hurry them off. Hilda said nothing 
about hoping to see them again. They shook hands as if 
they were mere strangers, and were thankful to feel the 
drawing-room door close behind them. As they started off 
in their own phaeton a simultaneous sigh of relief escaped 
them all. 

‘‘Well!” exclaimed Beryl, always the first to speak. 
“ If that is a specimen of the manners and hospitality of 
the upper-ten, preserve me from it — that’s all ! 


COUSINS. 


131 


4 1 What made them so cross?” asked poor Phyllis, who 
felt almost ready to cry. “Why did they ask us there at 
all, if they meant to treat us like that ? ” 

44 They wish to show us our place,” said Ursula, calmly ; 
“we are admitted as a matter of form within their walls 
occasionally, but it is to be made plain from the very first 
that no intimacy is to be allowed. That is their idea of 
good breeding, I imagine. We might give it another name.” 

“I don’t believe it was that,” said Lancelot. “Miss 
Edgeler implied that they were worried about Kingsle} r . 
He has been awfully seedy again these past two days, and 
Colquhoun seems to be afraid he will have another bother 
with his knee. I fancy that is what she meant me to under- 
stand, but she was not very explicit.” 

Ursula’s short upper lip curled a little. 

“ Kingsley is a very convenient scapegoat. His health 
has been made the excuse for a very great deal of rudeness 
and neglect. After a time it palls somewhat. When he 
is going about like anybody else, is seen at church, and is 
often met riding with Miss Edgeler, it is a little far-fetched 
to try and palm off the old story upon us. Of all things, I 
do despise a subterfuge.” 

“I thought they were all horrid!” cried Phyllis, with 
more heat of manner than was usual with her. “ I wish 
they had never asked us there at all. Hilda was as stiff 
and as cold as ice, and Kingsley was just as bad ; he looked 
quite cross, though I did expect him to be nice. Montague 
was the best, but he hardly stayed a minute. I was glad to 
get out of the house ! ” 

“ I should suffocate in such an atmosphere,” said Beryl, 
drawing a long breath, as if to rid herself of an absolute 
physical oppression. “ I cannot imagine how any one could 


13*2 


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live in it. I never felt anything so perfectly miserable in 
all my life. 0 Phyllis, what an escape you have had! 
Suppose it had been arranged for you to live there ! ” 

“Phyllis looks quite pale with horror at the thought,” 
observed Lancelot, smiling. “What shall you do if G-en. 
Tempest claims you, Phil?” 

“O Lance, don’t! I can’t bear to think of such a 
thing. You don’t think he will, do you?” and she appealed 
to Ursula with a look almost of terror in her eyes, as if the 
bare idea of such a thing appalled her. 

“ I do not think it at all likely that you would be made 
to go there against your will,” answered Ursula, quietly. “ I 
do not think our father would consent to any arrangement 
in direct opposition to your own wishes, and I have no doubt 
he could protect you, if there were need to do so. A visit 
to the Cedars may possibly be suggested, although I doubt 
even that ; for after you have been contaminated by a long 
residence at the Warrens, you will be hardly considered fit 
company for Hilda and Miss Edgeler.” 

“ I hope not, indeed !” was Phyllis’s indignant rejoinder. 
“ If you are not fit company for them, I am sure I am not, 
and do not wish to be.” 

Lancelot smiled at the vehemence of the girls. He had 
his own theories in regard to the people at the Cedars, and 
they by no means tallied with those of- his companions, but 
he was too wise to advance any private views, and listened 
with a good deal of amusement to the excited talk that 
occupied them all the way home. He could not help won- 
dering what his cousins would think did they know all the 
sentiments and feelings attributed to them. He himself 
was pretty sure that the household at the Warrens occupied 
but a very small space in their thoughts, and that nothing 


COUSINS. 


133 


was further from the intentions of the Tempests at the 
Cedars than to show any discourtesy to their relatives. 
They lived different lives, and had plenty on their hands and 
on their thoughts, and probably hardly thought of them 
from one week’s end to another. 

The girls, however, had taken up determinedly the idea 
that they were pointedly and intentionally slighted, and 
nothing, as Lancelot well knew, but a wider view of the 
situation, or a more intimate knowledge of their relatives, 
would shake them one whit in their conviction. 

They drove home in a state of considerable irritation, 
vowing that nothing would ever induce them to go to the 
Cedars again; but as they approached the Warrens, a new 
turn was given to their thoughts by the appearance of a 
tall figure in the garden, pacing up and down by Mrs. Tem- 
pest’s side. Lancelot shaded his eyes with his hand and 
exclaimed : — 

“ Why, it ’s Kenrick ! ” 

“ Ken ! Oh, how delightful ! ” cried Beryl ; and the next 
moment she had jumped out of the phaeton, almost before 
it had stopped, and had precipitated herself upon her 
brother in the headlong fashion she had never outgrown. 

“You dear, darling old Iven ! IIow did you manage to 
get away so soon? Is your examination over? Did you 
pass? But of course you did. I suppose you are a full- 
blown M. D. now, able to doctor the whole lot of us into 
our graves ! ” 

Kenrick Tempest, the eldest son of Mr. Arthur Tem- 
pest, had been studying medicine for many years, and had 
just passed, not his M. D. examination, but one that “ qual- 
ified ” him to practise. He had not expected to be at home 
quite so soon, but a change in some of his arrangements 


134 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


had taken place, and had enabled him to leave town a week 
earlier than he had at first anticipated. 

Phyllis had just seen him in town for a few minutes, so 
he was not quite a stranger to her. She liked his face, 
which she thought very clever and very kind, if a little 
sarcastic ; and when he turned to her with a friendly half- 
brotherly greeting, accepting her as one of the regular 
members of the family, she was quite sure that she should 
like him very much. 

Ursula was anxious to hear about the examination, — if 
it had been very stiff, what the subjects had been, and how 
Kenrick had acquitted himself. He answered her questions 
in the clear, terse way that seemed natural to him, and 
Phyllis was increasingly certain that he must be very clever. 
It was evident that he was Ursula’s favorite brother. 

“ You look as if you had worked very hard, Ken,” she 
said, laying her hand upon his arm as they paced up and 
down the narrow grass-plot together. “You will enjoy a 
good rest next, I should think.” 

“ I want to stretch my legs more than anything else,” 
answered Kenrick. u I feel as if I had been sitting at a 
desk till I had almost grown to it. I have persuaded the 
governor to come for a week’s walking tour with me, and 
we shall take the Monkey with us too, to amuse us. I 
want to see something of this country, and this is just the 
best time, with all the young green coming on, and the days 
long and warm. After I ’ve filled my lungs with fresh ah’ 
and walked off examination cramp, I shall settle at home 
for a few months, to do some reading that can be done just 
as well here as anywhere.” 

“ That will be delightful,” said Ursula. “ We will fit up 
a beautiful study for you by the time you come back. I 


COUSINS. 


135 


shall get you to teach me more of chemistry and physics. 
There are so many, many things I want to know.” 

Ursula’s dark eyes dilated as she spoke. Her thirst for 
knowledge was a positive passion. Phyllis looked at her 
with admiration, Kenrick with an odd little smile in his 
eyes. 

“ Don’t forget my warning, Ursula, and turn into a mere 
dabbler,” he said. “Life is short — too short for those 
who want to learn everything. Take my advice, and study 
a few subjects well ; but don’t give way to the craze for 
knowing just a little of everything. Half-knowledge is more 
dangerous than none at all.” 

“ I can’t help it — I feel as if I must know something of 
everything — I want to know everything about everything, 
if only I could.” 

“Which you cannot, my dear, even with your talents. 
You will have, some day, to choose, Ursula, whether you 
will be a universal genius — which generally means a univer- 
sal humbug — or be content to restrict your range of knowl- 
edge, and know some few things with tolerable depth and 
accuracy, v A man or woman who can touch learnedly upon 
almost every subject, but who is out of his or her depth 
almost at once in any one, is, to my thinking, rather a con- 
temptible kind of creature.’^) 

Phyllis held her breath in astonishment to hear such words 
addressed to anyone so clever and talented as Ursula. She, 
however, in no wise resented the implied accusation, but 
looked steadily out before her with wide-open, thoughtful 
eyes. By and by she gave a little sigh. 

“ I suppose you are right, Kenrick : you always are ; but 
it is very hard not to believe that there is time to learn 
everything.” 


136 


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“And to mend - clothes, and to keep places neat, and to 
think of household duties as well?” he asked, with a little 
smile ; and his keen eyes rested for a moment upon a hole 
in her glove, a badly mended rent in her dress, and then 
turned with an approving glance upon the perfect neatness 
and gracefulness of Phyllis’s costume. 

“ Why is it, Ursula,” he asked, gravely, “ that you never 
look quite finished? You are not exactly untidy, but always 
on the border-land. Why cannot you be clever, and careful 
of appearances too ? ” 

Ursula colored a little, but it was not with resentment. 

“ I do not think it is in my nature to study appearances,” 
she answered ; “ and, in spite of all you say from time to 
time, I cannot see the use of it. With so many, many 
things in the world of such vast importance, I cannot see 
the use of always studying trifles regarding exterior appear- 
ances ; I may be wrong, but it always seems like folly and 
vanity to me.” 

“ I was not thinking of studying them so much,” answered 
Kenrick, with his little sarcastic smile, “as of doing them 
naturally, by that instinct of order that is so characteristic of 
the highest developments of nature ; but we look at things 
from different stand-points, so argument is useless. So long 
as you think slovenliness and genius must walk hand in 
hand, there is no more to be said.” 

Ursula flushed again, and her firmly closed lips expressed 
a certain defiance, and confidence in her own opinion. She 
considered that Kenrick had stated the case unfairly, and 
she did not care to set him right. Moreover, Mrs. Tempest 
at that moment called them in to the travellers' tea she had 
prepared for Kenrick, and the time for speech was past. 

Beryl gave a vivid description at tea-time of the visit to 


COUSINS. 


137 


the Cedars that afternoon ; and Kenrick’s face put on a look 
of sarcastic displeasure as he heard of the reception accorded 
to his sisters and cousin at the hands of the other Tempests. 

He resented as deeply as any one the slight put upon his 
mother by the family at the Cedars, and her gentle words of 
excuse or explanation did not soothe his ruffled feelings. 

“ I hope# that pettiness would have been done away with 
by this time, ,, he said. “Do you mean that no advance 
has been made at all since last year when I was here ? ” 

“We have hardly seen them since last July,” answered 
Ursula ; “ and if to-day is a specimen of the treatment we 
are to expect "at their hands, the less we see of them in the 
future the better I shall be pleased.” 

“ I should incline to that opinion myself,” answered Ken- 
rick. ‘ ‘ One can put up with a little annoyance at the out- 
set, believing it to be the result of misunderstanding that 
closer acquaintance will dispel. But if it is always to be the 
same old story, the best thing will be to close the acquaint- 
ance at once.” 

“ I should be delighted to do so,” said Ursula. 

“ It would be lovely to pay them back in their own coin,” 
added Beryl. 

Mrs. Tempest looked round her with a quiet smile. 

“We will wait a little while longer, children,” she said. 
“We may find ourselves quite mistaken yet.” 



CHAPTER X. 

AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. 

J T was such a warm afternoon that Phyllis really could 
not make up her mind to sit down with her books, as 
Ursula and Beryl had done, in their cool flagged 
kitchen. She had tried over some new music with Cecil in 
the work-room, until he had been summoned to the study by 
his tutor, and had played on a little to herself afterwards. 
Then she wandered out into the garden behind the house, 
and paused in doubt as to what she should do next. The 
house seemed unusually quiet, now that Ivenrick and Ted and 
her uncle had gone. Phyllis was so unused in these days 
to be alone that she hardly knew how to pass away the time 
till study hours should be over. 

She had wandered out a little way beyond the garden, 
and was leaning against the low boundary wall that divided 
it from the moor beyond, when she was aware that a lady 
on horseback was approaching rapidly along the road that 
led into the yard. 

She fancied it was Hilda Tempest, and was about to 
withdraw quickly, when she heard herself called, and the 
next moment Venice Edgeler had reined up at her side. 

“ Are any of your brothers — your cousins, I mean — at 
home?” she questioned, with a sort of anxious agitation in 
her manner, “ or Mr. St. John, perhaps? Would some one 
[ 138 ] 




AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


139 


go to Kingsley ? He is down there in that hollow. He said 
he would follow me up ; but I doubt if he can. Do get 
some one to go to him, and I will tell you all about it.” 

Phyllis was off almost before the words were spoken, and 
Mervyn and Lancelot were quickly despatched by Venice to 
go to Kingsley’s assistance. 

“I do hope he has not hurt himself,” she said, anxiously. 
“You know he was worse again a fortnight ago, but it 
seemed to pass off, and yesterday he persuaded Montague to 
take Hilda up to town for a week, to see the pictures and all 
that sort of thing. To-day he said he should like to ride if 
I did not mind going gently, and we did very well until I 
had a fancy for going on to the turf. You know I am 
foolishly timid on horseback. I am never really master of my 
horse. Directly Sultan felt the turf under his feet he began 
to frisk about. He was very fresh, and had not liked our 
gentle pace. I managed him for a little while, but he got 
worse and worse. I was frightened, and did n’t know what 
to do, and presently he turned sharp round and bolted off 
towards' his stable. I was terrified, and thought my last 
hour had come. I couldn’t think of Kingsley or of an}*- 
thing. I could only think of that horrid steep chalk hill 
which lay beyond the ridge there, and down which Sultan 
must plunge before very long. I gave myself up for lost, 
but before we reached the top of the ridge there was Kings- 
ley on foot ready to meet us, and he somehow got hold of 
Sultan and stopped him. He has great power over animals, 
you know, ancUSultan slackened when he heard his voice 
before he sprang at his head. It was all over in a moment, 
and then I found that Kingsley had made a circuit round 
my course, knowing that to follow close would only frighten 
Sultan into a faster gallop. His Bayard has tremendous 


140 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


pace, and he had reached the place we were heading for, 
and had dismounted before we got up. He didn’t say he 
had hurt himself, and I was too frightened to think of him 
for a time ; he led Sultan down the steep hill, Bayard follow- 
ing him like a lamb, until we gpt into the hollow down there, 
and then I found that he could not mount and that he was 
as white as a sheet. He could hardly speak, but he would 
only admit that he had tired himself a little. I did not 
know what to do, for I saw he could never get home. Then 
I remembered that you lived close by, and I knew you would 
help us. I rode off and he said he would walk on ; but I am 
dreadfully afraid he has hurt himself, and it is all my fault, 
for being so timid and helpless.” 

As Venice finished her story Mrs. Tempest appeared, 
with Cecil beside her. The boy had evidently told her of 
the interruption that had occurred, and she had come out 
to see what was the matter. By the time Venice had told 
her tale once more with a few additions and a little more 
detail, Lancelot appeared, leading the horse, whilst Mervvn 
and Kingsley followed more slowly. 

“ Mr. St. John says I had better ride home with you, 
Miss Edgeler, if 3’ou will let me, and we will call and ask 
Colquhoun to step across and see Kingsley. I’m not much 
of a Nimrod, but they say the horse is quiet, so perhaps 
you will trust me as an escort.” 

“ I shall be very glad to do so,” answered Venice ; “ but 
about Kingsley, is he hurt?” 

“ I don’t know. He says it is nothing ; but he seems 
very lame. Colquhoun will tell us better. I think Mervyn 
wants him to come as soon as possible.” 

Lancelot had mounted by this time, and Venice bowed 
her adieux to those standing by ; but she lingered still, as 


AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


141 


Kingsley advanced with evident difficulty, and she looked 
at him anxiously. 

His face was very pale, but he smiled a little when he 
saw Phyllis and Mrs. Tempest, and lifted his hat as he 
approached. 

‘ * I am afraid I am trespassing most unceremoniously 
upon your hospitality,” he said ; “ but if you would allow 
me to wait here a little while until they can send the 
carriage for me it would be a great kindness. I can’t 
quite manage the ride home, I’m afraid.” 

Mrs. Tempest looked at him with gentle, motherly 
concern ; the set whiteness of his face and the dimness of 
his eyes told its own tale, and she said to Mervyn : — 

“Bring him in here; there is a comfortable sofa in the 
workroom. Run, Cecil, and see that it is clear of books. 
Phyllis, dear, will you bring some water?” 

When the girl returned from her errand Kingsley was 
on the sofa. He looked so ill that all the hard thoughts 
she had cherished towards her cousins melted away in com- 
passion and sympathy. As she approached, his eyes opened 
and a smile flashed over his face. He leaned upon his 
elbow and took the glass from her hand. 

“ Thank you very much, Phyllis,” he said ; and then, with 
a brighter look upon his face, he added, “You will think 
I am a very unpleasant kind of cousin to have. You 
always catch me when I can’t get a civil word out any- 
how. You must let me redeem my character at a more 
propitious moment later on.” 

“ Phyllis can see for herself that you are not fit to talk 
now,” interposed Mrs. Tempest, with quiet authority. 
“You must keep quite quiet until the doctor comes.” 

Kingsley looked searchingly for a moment into the 


i42 


JOINT GUARDIANS, 


grave, sweet face above him. His eyes met those of his 
aunt, and a good deal passed in that glance only known to 
those two themselves. 

“ You are very good,” he said, in a low voice. “ Thank 
you.” 

Phyllis felt that she was not wanted, and stole quietly 
away. Cecil, who was never troubled by scruples of that 
kind, remained where he was, perched up on the window- 
seat, and, half concealed by the curtain, taking everything 
in with great acuteness. Nothing escaped his sharp eyes, — 
the gravity of Mervyn’s face, the strained look of pain on 
Kingsley’s, or the tender solicitude upon that of his mother. 

Phyllis went and told her tale to her cousins in their 
study. Beryl listened with great attention, a subdued 
sparkle in her eyes, Ursula with a kind of lofty indifference 
not unmixed with contempt. 

“ Really, the fuss made over Kingsley is rather too absurd. 
To expect us to share it is going a little too far.” 

“ He looks very ill,” said Phyllis, half ashamed of her 
former compassion. 

“If he were a girl, and if he lived a different sort of 
life, he would very soon be told it was all hysterical non- 
sense, and could be conquered by a little courage and de- 
termination,” answered Ursula, severely. “ Some people go 
on being ill just because they don’t make any effort to get 
better. If Kingsley had had anything to do he would 
have been well long ago, but he idles away his time without 
aim or object in life, and thinks he is beyond the reach of 
criticism. I know somebody said he suffered more from 
neuralgia now than anything ; that shows it is all on the 
nerves, and nervous ailments can always be conquered by 
a little resolution and courage — everybody knows that.” 


AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


143 


“ And to come here, of all places, to be made much of ! ” 
cried Beryl, her eyes sparkling, half with mischievous 
amusement, half with indignation. “If he had had the 
least spark of proper pride he would have sat by the way- 
side till the carriage could fetch him sooner than have come 
here. It just shows what a poor-spirited creature he is. 
Fancy his daring to ask hospitality from us after the way 
they treated us a few days ago ” ; and Beryl tossed her 
head and looked supremely scornful. 

“ There is no accounting for tastes,” said Ursula, quietly. 
“ Come, Beryl, let us go on with our work. It is not worth 
our disturbing ourselves because Kingsley is here. We do 
not wish to see him.” 

“ I should think not, indeed. I used to like him the 
best, but he is just as bad now as the others ; being ill 
has quite spoiled him.” 

So the sisters settled to their work again, and Phyllis 
got a book and tried to read, feeling half ashamed of the 
interest she could not but feel in the cousin who had been 
thus thrown upon their hospitality. 

It was about a couple of hours later when Cecil strolled 
in with his hands in his pockets. 

“Well, has the wounded hero gone yet?” asked Beryl, 
with a little laugh of derision. 

“ No, and not likely to. He ’s fixed here for some days ; 
Colquhoun does n't think he ’ll be fit to move for a week to 
come at least.” 

Ursula looked up with a haughty frown upon her face. 

“ What are you talking about, Cecil? ” 

“ About Kingsley Tempest,” answered the boy, perching 
himself upon the edge of a desk, and chewing a stalk of 
grass that he had in his mouth. “ It seems that he’s given 


144 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


his knee a very nasty wrench, and the only thing now is to 
keep him as quiet as possible for some days at least. I 
don’t think Colquhoun knows quite what is wrong yet, for 
Kingsley fainted like a shot when his leg was touched, and 
it was ages before we could get him round. Colquhoun 
looked as grave as a judge, and said to Mervyn that he 
should not attempt any further examination then. He said 
he must stay where he was and keep perfectly quiet, and 
that any attempt to move him was quite out of the question.” 

“ Rather cool of Dr. Colquhoun to quarter him upon us 
like that,” said Ursula, coldly. 

“Well, you know, I think he was quite right,” argued 
Cecil, with the gravity of a judge. “ It would be cruelty to 
animals to try and move him now. Of course the mother 
put the whole house at his disposal ; but he is just to stay 
where he is, on the sofa in the workroom. Colquhoun and 
Mervyn will come back about ten, and try to settle him com- 
fortably for the night. I heard Colquhoun say he should 
try a good stiff blister to-morrow : it generally answered 
best. I like Colquhoun : he always talks sense, and seems 
to know what he’s about.” 

“ And, pray, what does Kingsley say to being thrust upon 
us like this? ” asked Ber} T l, who looked roused and excited. 
“ I should think he felt pretty small. I wonder if he has 
the grace to be ashamed of himself ? What does he say to 
it all?” 

“ He isn’t in the vein for much conversation,” answered 
Cecil. “ When he came to and understood that he was n’t 
to go back to the Cedars yet, he began an apology, but 
mother would not listen or let him have his say out. He 
made Mervyn promise to see that Hilda and Montague were 
not told anything about it ; he was very anxious that they 


AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


145 


should have their week in London undisturbed ; and when 
that was settled to his satisfaction, he seemed too done up 
to say anything more. He looks awfully bad. I never saw 
any fellow look quite so white.” 

Ursula’s face was still cold and severe. 

“ I do not wish to be unfeeling,” she said, “ but I cannot 
help rather despising fainting, die-away sort of men. Of 
course, if it is a necessity, Kingsley must stay here ; but I 
do hope that people will not all combine to make a great 
fuss of him. The mother is so beautifully good to every 
one that she will hardly be able to help it, but I shall pro- 
test against his being made into a hero by the whole house- 
hold. After all that has passed it would not be suitable” ; 
and Ursula turned to her books again, as if the subject 
had been pretty well exhausted and had ceased to interest 
her. 

It was a sort of unspoken rule with the two younger girls 
to take their cue from Ursula. Nothing more was said about 
Kingsley, and they all went, as usual, for a long ramble on 
the moor for an hour or more before the evening tea. 

They were a little late coming in, and Mrs. Tempest and 
the boys had already begun ; but Ursula asked no questions 
about her cousin, and his name was not mentioned until they 
rose from table. Then Mrs. Tempest turned to her eldest 
daughter and said : — 

“ I wish you and Phyllis would go and sit with Kingsley 
a little while. I have to go to see old Betty Hamble at the 
mill, and as it will be dark before I get back I want the boys 
with me. I am not quite comfortable to leave him long 
alone, though he declares he is perfectly able to take care of 
himself. You can see if he wants any more tea, and take 
your books, and sit there with him. He does not look fit to 
10 


146 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


talk, but I should be more comfortable to tjiink that he was 
not quite alone. ,, 

“Very well, mother dear,” said Ursula, quietly. “We 
will go.” 

“You don’t trust me, mother,” said Beryl, laughing: 
“you think I shall make too much noise for your new pet, 
I suppose ? ” 

“ I want you to put your room tidy first, dear. I was up 
there half an hour ago, and found it in a sad state. After 
that is done you can join the others, if you like.” 

Beryl danced off, laughing ; Ursula took a book and 
walked off with Phyllis towards the workroom, not alto- 
gether displeased at this opportunity of heaping coals of 
fire in a quiet, dignified fashion upon the head of one who 
had helped to slight and despise them. Kingsley, she 
thought, must be feeling horribly ashamed of himself by 
this time, and she had no intention of helping him out of 
his embarrassment. 

It was almost dark in the house, and the .workroom was 
lighted by a lamp. Kingsley lay upon the couch, his face 
as white as the pillow behind his head, his features wearing 
a curious sharpened look, the meaning of which was well 
known to those who had nursed him through two long, 
trying illnesses ; but he looked up with a smile as the two 
girls appeared, and said : — 

“This is very kind of you. I am afraid I have taken 
most unceremonious possession of your room ; but you must 
not let me disturb you in any respect. I won’t be in your 
way more than I can help. I’m afraid I am very poor 
company, but I like to see people about me.” 

Ursula gave him her hand with a grave smile. 

“Iam sorry you have hurt yourself,” she said ; and then 


AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


147 


she sat down at a little distance, and seemed disposed to 
begin to read. 

But Phyllis still stood by the sofa. Something in Kings- 
ley’s face troubled her, and woke into life all the compassion 
of which she had felt half ashamed a little time back. 

“We came to see if you would have any more tea ; but 
you have not touched what you have got.” 

“ Lazy people don’t deserve luxuries,” he answered, smil- 
ing. “ I have n’t earned my tea to-day.” 

“I don’t know. You stopped a runaway horse. I 
should think that was pretty hard work.” 

He smiled, but made no answer. Phyllis said, timidly : — 

“I’m afraid your knee hurts you dreadfully.” 

“ Not more than it has often done before ; and it goes off 
by and by. It is nothing to make a trouble of. You must 
not look so solemn over it.” 

“ I wish I could do something for you,” said Phyllis ; and 
there was such sincerity in her voice and in her eyes that 
Kingsley felt drawn towards her, and looked at her with one 
of his peculiarly sweet smiles, generally reserved for Hilda. 

“ Will you play to me?” he asked. “ Somebody said — 
I suppose it was Mervvn — that it was a treat to hear you 
play. I see there is a piano here. I should so much like to 
hear you.” 

“ Would you, really?” said Phyllis, flushing with pleasure. 
“ I will play as long as you like.” 

She went to the piano and began, and low, sweet music 
filled the quiet room, just the sort of music to soothe over- 
strained nerves, dreamy and tender and spontaneous. Kings- 
ley lay still and listened, and somehow Ursula’s attention 
wandered from her book, and she found herself unconsiously 
studying the lines of his face, and trying to reproduce them 


148 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


with pencil and paper upon the fly-leaf of the volume in hei 
hand. She had always had a fancy for sketching faces anc 
theorizing about them, and the more she studied the line! 
of the one before her the more perplexed and interested die 
she become. Where did this cousin, whom she had chosen t< 
regard as a poor, weak, rather pitiful sort of creature, ge 
that strong profile from? — the peculiar mingling of resolu 
tion and sweetness that gave such power to the whole face 
The broad brow, the steady, unwavering eye, the firm mouth 
and square chin, — all told a tale of strength and determina 
tion, and yet there was no sternness in the face, and not 
shadow of fretful repining, — such as is often seen on th 
countenances of those who have known much of pain an 
weakness. There was a steadfast serenity in every line c 
that face, as far removed from weakness as it was from dh 
content ; and as Ursula watched and sketched and theorize 
after her accustomed manner she found some of her precoi 
ceived ideas about Kingsley somewhat rudely shaken, n( 
overturned all at once by any means, but undoubtedly shakei 

Phyllis stopped playing presently, and Kingsley thanke 
her, not with effusion but with quiet appreciation. The 
talked a little about music, and then he turned with a smi 
to Ursula and said : — 

“ Your book looks very ponderous and learned. Is it n< 
you who are so very fond of study ? ” 

“ I think we are all fond of it,” answered Ursula, gravel; 
“ And there is so very, very much to learn.” 

‘ 4 What is your favorite study?” 

“ I don’t know if I have a favorite exactly. This is a boc 
on astronomy, but it is too hard for me.” 

Kingsley held out his hand, and Ursula gave him the bool 
He turned the leaves, smiling a little, and said : — 


AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


149 


“A wide subject, is it not? especially since the photo- 
graphic eye has been brought to such perfection. Ah, this 
book is too old to touch on modern discoveries. Have you 
ever seen any of Janssen’s photographs of the sun, taken in 
the two- thousandth part of a second ? ” 

Ursula shook her head. 

“They are very wonderful. I once went to Janssen’s 
observatory, near Meudon, and saw how he arranged matters. 
He is a wonderful man ; and so is Dr. Henry Draper of New 
York. He showed me his inch-square negative of the great 
Orion nebula — I think it was the most wonderful thing I 
have ever seen yet.” 

“Tell me about it,” said Ursula, her grave face lighting 
up with vivid intelligence. 

Beryl had just come in at this moment, and she and 
Phyllis both drew near as Kingsley got pencil and paper and 
began to explain some of the wonders of modern science — 
the photographic eye, the spectroscope, and the tremendous 
discoveries to which they have led. 

When Mrs. Tempest returned an hour later, it was to find 
the three girls clustered round Kingsley’s couch deeply 
engrossed in his talk, Ursula’s face all aglow with that pecul- 
iar light that told of keen intellectual pleasure. 

“ My dear children, I am afraid you are tiring your 
cousin,” said the mother, gently 

“ No, indeed,” he answered, with a bright smile. “ I have 
had a most enjoyable evening. You don’t know how grate- 
ful I am for company and occupation ; and Ursula keeps 
one’s wits awake. I must rub up my mathematics if I am 
to give any more lectures in the sciences to her.” 

Ursula stood up with an absorbed look upon her face ; 
she smiled a little as she heard these words. 


150 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


44 I wish I knew half as much as you do,” she said, and 
went quietly away with her book and diagrams. 

She studied these intently all the remainder of the evening, 
and went to bed with her head full of astronomical problems. 
Nothing could so have reconciled her to the idea of having 
Kingsley in the house as the feeling that she could learn 
something from him. 

She had softened sufficiently towards him as to ask next 
morning *how he was. 

44 Well, he says he passed a very tolerable night,” an- 
swered' Mrs. Tempest, 44 but his looks do not improve.” 

44 1 don’t know what his idea of an intolerable night can 
be then,” remarked Cecil, 44 seeing that on a tolerable one 
he never closed his eyes.” 

They all looked at the boy in surprise. 

44 And, pray, what do you know about it, youngster?” 
asked Lancelot. 

44 Oh, pretty much everything! I was in his room all 
night nearly.” 

44 You, Cecil ! My dear boy, what do you mean? ” 

44 Why, I had one of my fidgety fits on me last night, and 
could n’t get to sleep anyhow. I wanted my hammock, and 
remembered it was down in the workroom, so, about twelve, 
down I went after it. The door was just ajar, and the lamp 
burning, so I looked in. He was wide awake, and saw me, 
so I came in and told him how I had such queer nights some- 
times, and how Colquhoun had suggested I. should try sleep- 
ing in a hammock, and how well it had answered. And then, 
somehow, though he said he was all right alone, I did n’t half 
fancy leaving him, so I asked if I might swing my hammock 
there, and he said, 4 Of course ’ ; and so I got a pillow and a 
blanket, and made myself comfortable, and we had quite a 


AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


151 


jolly time. He told me about how he and Montague went 
round the world with their tutor between school* and college, 
and what jolly adventures they had, and how they camped 
out on the prairies, and did all kinds of things. He talked me 
to sleep pretty soon, but he never slept a wink himself, for 
I ke^t waking up, and his eyes were always open, and he 
looked awfully bad as soon as the daylight came. He 
would n’t let me get up, or do anything, or call anybody. 
He called me a dissipated youngster, and told me to go to 
sleep, which I could n’t help doing. I asked him why he 
did n’t do the same himself, and he said he was old enough 
to please himself. If he had a tolerable night, preserve me 
from them — that’s all.” 

“ Poor boy ! ” said Mrs. Tempest, softly ; “I wish we could 
do more for him.” 

“ Perhaps Colquhoun will be able to do something for 
him,” said Cecil. “ He said he should walk over with 
Mervyn this morning. I think I shall be a doctor when I 
grow up,” added the boy, reflectively. “ I wished I was one 
last night, though it might n’t have been much good.” 

Mrs. Tempest was in her garden an hour later, preparing 
to make her daily round of visits to poultry-yard, farm, and 
dairy, when she saw Venice draw up in the phaeton, and ad- 
vance towards her. She had come to ask news of Kingsley, 
and bring some things he might want ; but after these mat- 
ters had been satisfactorily settled she seemed still inclined 
to linger, and Mrs. Tempest, looking into her face and read- 
ing something of appeal in her eyes, said, in her sweet, 
motherly way : — 

“ Do not hurry back, Venice — may I call you Venice on 
so short an acquaintance ? I am just going the round of my 
little domain. Would you like to come with me?” 


152 JOINT GUARDIANS. 

“ I think you must be a witch, Mrs. Tempest,” answered 
Venice. “ It was just what I was longing to do. You don’t 
know how fascinated I feel sometimes by what I hear of you 
and your household ; it is not a bit like anything I have heard 
of or seen before.” 

“ Come, then,” answered Mrs. Tempest, with another 
smile, “ and be introduced to a new world.” 

It was, indeed, a new world to Venice; yet the deepest 
fascination to her was the gentle, motherly tenderness of the 
mistress of the house, towards whom every one seemed to 
turn with instinctive confidence and love. Mrs. Tempest’s 
face had attracted the girl strangely from the first moment 
she had seen it in church. The way Cecil clung to her hand 
yesterday, talking eagerly as he brought her out, her ready 
concern and helpfulness, the fashion in which Lancelot had 
talked of her as they rode home together, all were a kind of 
revelation to Venice. All her life long she had hungered 
unconsciously for some deep, tender, motherly love, untainted 
by ambitious scheming or longing after worldly advancement, 
and never before had it been more than a name to her ; but 
from this day forth it became a reality. She knew that the 
life she had hitherto led was not the only one in the world, 
even though it might be the only one for her. 

Venice was not talkative, her words at all times were few, 
fewer than ever when she was thinking deeply ; but then 
Mrs. Tempest possessed that rare instinct of sympathetic 
insight into character that enabled her to know a great deaj 
of what passed in the minds of those about her without the 
medium o£ many words. The few dropped by Venice were 
enough to show that she was not happy, not satisfied with 
her life, and at once she felt deeply interested in her. 

Yet Venice enjoyed the tour of the small homestead, and 


AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. 


153 


brightened up under the influence of Mrs. Tempest’s gentle 
talk, and presently she was introduced to the cool, flagged 
kitchen, where all the girls were hard at work with their 
books. 

They were a little taken aback at first at this new impor- 
tation, but whatever u the mother ” did was always right in 
their eyes. Beryl was never shy, and Phyllis not averse to a 
little enlivenment during study hours. So Venice was made 
welcome, and talked to, and shown a great many things, and 
unconsciously made to feel that she had come into a very 
learned household. She thought Phyllis was very sweet and 
lovable, and openly hoped she would come and stay at the 
Cedars soon. Phyllis, however, seemed to shrink a little at 
this suggestion, and Beryl laughed at the idea. It was plain 
the Cedars had no attractions for them. Venice was hardly 
surprised that it was so. 

Ursula took little part in the talk, and was soon absorbed 
in the papers before her. Presently Venice came and looked 
over her shoulder. 

“ What are those queer things? ” 

“ Astronomical diagrams,” was the abstracted answer. 

“ What are you doing with them? ” 

“ Studying them. I find Kingsley knows more of astron- 
omy than any of us. I want to learn all I can whilst he is 
here. Is he very clever, Venice? ” 

u I don’t know. I am no judge. Why do you ask me?” 

“ I wanted to know. If he is, I should like to learn as 
much as I can from him before he goes.” 

Venice was looking thoughtfully out of the window, a 
look upon her face that Ursula did not altogether understand. 

“ I think we could all learn a great deal from Kingsley,” 
she said, slowly, “ if we had a mind.” 



CHAPTER XI. 


MAKING FRIENDS. 



HOSE parting words from Venice haunted Ursula 
all through that day with an odd persistence. 
She had a passion for learning, an insatiable 
thirst for information, and yet she could not rid herself of 
the idea that it was not of such things as astronomy or sci- 
ence that Venice was thinking when she had told her that 
she could learn a good deal from Kingsley. Ursula had 
lofty ideals and an unconscious sense of power not uncom- 
mon in the young, especially when they are endowed with 
unusual talents. She was not vain or arrogant, but she had 
a good deal of the hereditary pride of her race, and in her 
case it had taken the form of what she might perhaps have 
called “breadth and catholicity of feeling.” She believed 
herself to be very liberal in all her views, and her antagonism 
to her cousins at the Cedars was mainly due to what she 
termed their “ littleness and narrowness.” She had felt her- 
self, metaphorically speaking, on a pedestal far above them, 
and it was something of a surprise and a shock to find that 
one at least of these despised and prejudiced creatures was 
somewhat less despicable than she had brought herself to 
believe. She had not yielded up her favorite theories yet, 
she still said that Kingsley was a very much overrated being, 
and required putting in his place from time to time ; never- 
[ 154 ] 


MAKING FRIENDS. 


155 


theless she could not deny that he seemed very clever, and, 
had he only shown more compunction for his past conduct, 
she might have found it in her heart to like him. As it was, 
he seemed curiously unconscious of any cause of offence, 
and, so far as he knew, had made no apology for his own 
past rudeness or that of his family. It seemed as if he 
wished to ignore the “family feud ” the moment its exist- 
ence became awkward for him. This appeared to Ursula a 
weak, shuffling way of getting out of a difficulty, and she 
would have respected him more had he evinced more courage 
and candor. 

•She did not see him all that day, and had no means of 
testing the truth of Venice’s somewhat enigmatic words. 
The next day was Sunday, and he was reported to be much 
better, well enough to enjoy company again. Mrs. Tempest 
stayed with him in the morning whilst the others went to 
church (as Beryl said, she seemed quite to have adopted 
him) , and after the early dinner she went back to his room 
again. 

Ursula took her book out into the orchard that afternoon 
and sat in a favorite nook in an old apple-tree. She was 
not, however, quite in the humor for reading, and presently, 
hearing sounds of music from the house, she wandered in 
the direction whence they proceeded, and soon made out 
that Phyllis and Cecil were singing hymns in the workroom, 
as they not unfrequently did on Sunday afternoons. Phyllis 
objected, from force of habit, to Cecil’s violin or to anything 
like “practice music” on that day; but she would indulge 
him with as many hymns as he liked. 

Ursula opened the door and entered quietly. Kingsley 
greeted her with a smile. He was lying on his sofa, and 
Mrs. Tempest sat beside him. There was very little of the 


156 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


invalid in his appearance that day, except the fact that he 
was lying down with a light carriage-rug over him. His 
collar and wristbands were as stiff and spotless, hio necktie 
as accurately adjusted, and his coat as carefully brushed and 
put on, as if he meditated a walk in the park. Contrasted 
with the easy slovenliness of her own brothers whenever they 
were laid up for a few days, Kingsley’s appearance was 
somewhat remarkable. A week ago Ursula would have 
condemned such a regard for appearances as contemptible 
and dandified in the extreme, but something in the kindly 
gentleness of the face, the worn, tired look in his eyes, and 
his entire lack of self-consciousness or self-pity, drove back 
all harsher feelings, and Ursula was willing to recognize that 
it was as much Kingsley’s nature to be particular and fas- 
tidious as to externals as it was that of her brothers to be 
careless and easy. 

She sat down beside her mother, taking one of her hands 
with a caressing gesture. She did not speak to her cousin, 
but gave him a little smile, and then sat still, listening to 
the sweet voices of Phyllis and Cecil, and thinking her own 
thoughts. 

She did not notice very much what was being sung till 
the following familiar words aroused her attention, she could 
hardly have told why : — 

“ O hope of every contrite heart, 

O joy of all the meek, 

To those who ask how kind Thou art ! 

How good to those who seek ! 

“ But what to those who find? Ah ! this 
No tongue nor pen can show ; 

The love of Jesus, what it is 
None but His loved ones know.” 


MAKING FRIENDS. 


157 


Ursula could not have explained what it was that made her 
look at Kingsley as those words were sung, nor what it was 
in the expression of that quiet face and those beautiful dark- 
blue eyes that suddenly smote upon her with a sense as of 
absolute revelation. She sat very still : she neither moved 
nor spoke ; but a curious wave of feeling swept over her, like 
nothing she had ever before experienced. In that moment 
everything seemed to recede from her, everything she had 
most prized and valued, — her studies, her pursuits, her 
ambitions and lofty aims, — all seemed to shrink into an 
inexplicable insignificance, leaving her alone in infinite space 
with the one word “ Afterwards ! ” written across it as in 
letters of fire. 

It was a strange and rather an awful moment, but it 
passed almost as quickley as it came, leaving, nevertheless, 
a vivid impression behind, which Ursula did not attempt 
to shake off. Afterwards? After what? What did that 
significant question mean? What was the end and object 
of life ? How would all look when the end of the day had 
come, and when the dawn of the great hereafter was slowly 
breaking upon the horizon ? 

Again Ursula lifted her eyes to Kingsley’s face and 
studied it with curious intentness. He was not aware of 
her gaze : his eyes were fixed upon the window, from which 
a view over a wide stretch of moorland could be obtained. 
He was smiling a little to himself, and there was a curious 
look of restful content in the whole expression of his face. 
Ursula wondered what could possibly bring it there. It 
touched her more than she would have cared to admit. She 
was surprised she had never noticed before the strange 
beauty of his eyes, or the strength and power that was ex- 
pressed in their steadfast glance. She wanted to know 


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JOINT GUARDIANS. 


what he was thinking of, what feelings and ideas lay hidden 
away beneath that calm exterior : she wanted to understand 
how it was that he was so contented to lie still and suffer 
when he should be up and doing his work in the great world 
battle. She could hardly believe him apathetic and indiffer- 
ent now, but why was he not more eager and impatient? 

She was not sorry when at tea that afternoon her mother 
asked her to stay at home and sit with Kingsley whilst the 
rest went to church. She did not object to have a little 
quiet talk with her cousin, as she told her mother when she 
followed her up to help her to dress for her walk. 

“ He interests me, mother,” she said ; “ and, now that he 
behaves properly to you, I do not dislike him, but he puzzles 
me a good deal.” 

“ Why, dear?” 

“ I don’t know. He is quite different from an3 T body I 
have ever seen before.” 

Mrs. Tempest looked at Ursula with a certain tender 
gravity in her eyes. 

“ Perhaps if some of us were more like Kingsley, the 
world would be a better and happier place than it is.” 

“Why, mother dear, you have quite lost your heart to 
him. Has he been talking to you about himself ? ” 

“ No ; I do not think that is a favorite topic of conversa- 
tion with Kingsley.” 

“ You are sorry for him because he is ill, you dear, tender- 
hearted Miitterchen. But I cannot let you look so grave. 
He will soon be well again.” 

“ I hope so, dear.” 

“Now you must not begin to croak. You can see for 
yourself that he is better. Why, he is quite cheerful. He 
would never look as he does if he were not certain to get 
well quickly.” 


MAKING FRIENDS. 


159 


“ Would he uot? I am not so certain.” 

“O mother! he couldn’t: it would be impossible. 
Why, he would be all in a fret and a worry, instead of 
which they all say he is always quite quiet and patient. I 
think he hardly minds enough.” 

“ I doubt if Kingsley would ever fret or worry, as you 
call it, whatever he was called on to bear.” 

“ But, mother, he could not help it if — ” 

Ursula paused, not knowing quite how to finish her 
sentence. 

“ Could he not? I am not sure of that. Do you know 
what words have haunted me as I have been with him these 
past days ? ” 

Mrs. Tempest turned the leaves of a Bible that lay upon 
her table, and Ursula read over her shoulder the passage to 
which she pointed : — 

“ Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is 
stayed on Thee.” 

Ursula made no reply, but she went down to Kingsley’s 
room with a curious sense of unsatisfied longing weighing 
upon her — the feeling that there was something in the 
world around her of which she was profoundly ignorant, 
yet which was of more real value than very much that she 
had prized so much, something that she had unwittingly 
despised and passed over, yet which was rising up before 
her now, charged with a deep and awful meaning. 

“ You must not let me be a tax upon you all,” said 
Kingsley, as she appeared. “Company is very pleasant, 
but I am. well used to my own society, and I cannot have 
you kept in on my account. I give trouble enough without 
that, I am sure.” 

“ I should like to stay with you,” answered Ursula, w r ith 


160 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


her grave smile. “ I do not always go twice to church. It 
is a long walk. I am not as fond of tramping as the rest of 
them are.” 

“You like reading better? ” 

“ Much better. There is nothing in the world like 
books.” 

“ They are wonderful things certainly, and so are words 
— curious symbols that look so meaningless yet express so 
much — all the won lers of heaven and earth.” 

“You feel like that too? So do I sometimes when I 
open a new book, and try to think what all those black lines 
will tell me.” Her face had put on its absorbed look, she 
rested her chin on her hands and gazed out of the window 
long and earnestly. “ Sometimes I think that everything is 
very wonderful really.” 

“ You are not far wrong there, I think, Ursula.” 

“ It makes me want to know everything, to understand 
everything,” went on Ursula, with a sort of subdued vehe- 
mence. “ Kenrick says it is impossible, absurd, but I can- 
not help wishing it all the same. Why should I not give my 
life to it — to the acquisition of knowledge ? It may be vain 
and foolish, but I feel as if I had power in me, as if I could 
do more than others have done, and leave a name behind me 
perhaps. Women have done it before : why shonld not I 
be one of them?” 

Ursula would perhaps have hardly spoken so freely had 
she not been somewhat excited and taken out of herself 
beforehand. The barriers of her ordinary reserve were 
more easily broken down in consequence, and she found 
herself in the midst of her speech almost before she knew 
she had begun. 

“ Life was not given us to waste, I am sure,” she con- 


MAKING FRIENDS. 


161 


tinued. 44 I want to do a great deal with mine, to make it 
something grand and noble. What can be really more 
great than the lifelong pursuit of knowledge? I must 
learn, learn, learn : it is a necessity to me, the highest aim 
and object of life.” 

Kingsley smiled ; he felt a sympathy with her vehement 
thirst for knowledge ; he had known the same longing too. 

44 Knowledge is a grand thing,” he said, quietly, 44 yet life 
is something even grander. Keep that in mind when you 
plan out your future.” 

She looked at him keenly. 

44 What do you mean?” 

44 Nothing that you do not know already, though we may 
forget it sometimes — that no life can be grand that is 
not also unselfish.” 

44 It is not selfish to study.” 

44 Not in the least ; but a life spent in study for no end be- 
yond the pleasure of acquiring knowledge might be in danger 
of growing selfish ; so at least it sometimes seems to me.” 

She looked at him steadily and searchingly. 

4 4 Is that meant for a rebuke ? ” 

44 Certainly not. It was merely the expression of an 
opinion.” 

44 Tell me then your opinion of what a life should be.” 

44 A comprehensive question,” answered Kingsley, with a 
smile ; and, after a little silence, he added, slowly, 4 ‘ I think 
my idea of a life well spent would be one that would stand 
the test of this question : has the world been any the better 
because this man or woman has lived in it? ” 

Ursula shook her head gravely. 

“Nobod} T could answer a question like that — not at least 
in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred.” 

11 


162 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“Possibly not; but for all that the answer has been 
recorded somewhere, though we may have to wait for it.” 

Ursula was silent for a moment, and then asked, with 
some abruptness : — 

“ What are you going to be, Kingsley?” 

“To be?” 

“Yes, when you get well. What are you going to do? 
Are you going to be only a ‘gentleman at large/ or shall you 
take to some profession ? ” 

“Driving the question home, Ursula?” he questioned 
with a smile. “ I must wait and see what I shall be fit for 
before I make any plans.” 

“Oh, but you must have plans; you can’t help having 
them, I am sure.” 

“I have had a good many, but — ” 

“ Never mind the buts : tell me what they were.” 

He smiled one of those smiles that she could not fathom. 
“ I wished to be a clergyman, and to work with a man I 
know, whom I helped once, who has a large parish in a poor 
part of London, but there seems little prospect at present of 
my being able to do so.” 

“That would have been rather fine, I suppose,” said 
Ursula, reflectively, “ if your test question is the true one, 
at least. It is not the kind of thing that appeals to me, and 
I can’t quite think what put it into your head ; but I rather 
like the idea. Don’t give it all up so tamely, Kingsley ; you 
couldn’t if your heart were in it.” 

He smiled again, with a look of amusement. 

“You see, it gave me up, Ursula. A man who spends 
half his time on the sofa is n’t wanted in an overcrowded 
parish in any capacity whatever.” 

“ But you must not spend half your time on the sofa,” 


MAKING FRIENDS. 


103 


cried Ursula, with energy. 44 You must not give way as you 
have done, you must make an effort and get well. Don’t 
think I am unfeeling, Kingsley ; I know that you were very 
much hurt, and that you have gone through a great deal, 
but I do think you have got into the way of giving in too 
much. People have encouraged you in it, and I dare say it 
is difficult to make the effort, but I feel certain you would be 
better if you did. Nobody else will say this to you. I should 
not if I had not begun to like you ; but I do like you, and I 
hate to think of your wasting your life and getting into a sort 
of valetudinarian or hypochondriac, just for want of being 
roused at starting. You are young and strong, and have 
your life before you. Be a man, and don’t let a trifling acci- 
dent spoil all your future, and render you useless in the 
world’s work. You can talk, I know, and talk well ; but I 
want you to act too.” 

Ursula spoke with rapidity and decision. When she had 
something upon her mind she could seldom rest without 
having her say out. She expected Kingsley to be offended 
and indignant, but there was no trace of either feeling in his 
face. His eyes were shining rather strangely — almost as if 
they saw beyond the limits of her vision — and he held out 
his hand to her, smiling. 

“ It is very kind and honest of you to say all this to me, 
Ursula. I think we may call ourselves friends after so much 
frankness.” 

She took his hand and stood looking down at him, her 
grave eyes wide with questioning earnestness. 

“ Then you will try to work, Kingsley?” 

“ Yes,” he answered, “ I will try to work ” ; but then he 
lapsed into a very thoughtful silence, which she made no 
attempt to break, and presently he added, thoughtfully , 44 But 


164 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


I am not sure, Ursula, that it will be quite the kind of work 
we were speaking of — the work I had mapped out for my- 
self once. ,, 

“Will it not?” she asked; and there was a look in his 
face now that stirred some dim apprehension within her. 
“ What is it, Kingsley? ” she asked, suddenly. 

“Will you sit down somewhere near to me,” he asked, 
gently, “ and hear what I have to say for myself? You see, 
I do not want quite to forfeit your good opinion, Ursula, and 
yet I am not sure about following your advice.” 

“ You said just now you would try to work.” 

“ Sol will,” he answered, with steadfast resolution, “ but 
it may not be, as I say, the kind of work that you are think- 
ing of.” 

“ What will it be, then? ” she asked, quickly. 

“ That I cannot tell,” he answered, looking straight into 
her face with the same strange smile. “ Sometimes it seems 
as if it might be just to lie still and suffer ; but whatever it 
may be, the thing is, to be ready to take what is sent, and do 
the work, whether it is active or passive. Whatever is sent 
to us is the best thing for us, — that we know without any 
doubt.” 

Ursula sat still, looking at him with something of awe in 
her eyes. Life seemed to take a new meaning for her, 
seemed to open out before her in a manner altogether strange 
and unexpected. Was there something in it deeper and more 
awful than she had supposed before? Were there duties of 
whose existence she had never dreamed ? Could it be that 
submission and patience could ever be as grand or as noble 
as striving and fighting and straining to reach the forefront 
of the battle? Looking at Kingsley’s face, she knew quite 
well that the possibility he spoke of so quietly was one infi- 


MAKING FRIENDS. 


165 


nitely harder to face than any active work could be ; what, 
then, made him speak of it so calmly, and accept it with such 
quiet submission? Was it weakness, or some subtle form of 
heroism ? She did not know. 

“ Kingsley,” she said, looking at him very earnestly, 
“ which would you rather do, fight or suffer?” 

A flickering light played over his face for a moment, then 
he answered, with his most serene smile : — 

“ I would rather do what I am called upon to do.” 

“ But if you had to choose? ” 

“We never do have to choose,” he answered, quietly. 
“We have only to be ready.” 

Her eyes had never left his face. 

“It seems so much harder to me to be out of the battle. 
I could bear anything but idleness.” 

His grave, thoughtful face lighted up as he said : — 

“ Perhaps it is the greater honor to be called upon to un- 
dertake the harder task.” 

“ It is harder to you, then? ” 

“ It seems so, looking forward, but it may not be in the 
reality.” 

Ursula looked very grave. She was not quite sure yet if 
this was not giving way too much. 

“ You are content with whatever happens?” 

“ Yes, quite content.” 

“ Even if you are lame always?” 

He said, presently : — 

“ Always is a long time.” 

“ All your life, I mean.” 

“ All my life,” he repeated, dreamily. “ Yes, I suppose 
it may be that. ” 

“ Do you know, or do you only think it possible? Every 
one thinks you are going to get better.” 


166 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


He looked at her steadily. 

“You can keep a secret, Ursula?” 

“Yes.” 

“I do not want the others to know. It will come upon 
them gradually perhaps, but I do not wish them to be told 
all at once. Colquhoun gives me very little hope of ever 
being much stronger than I am. It is more probable than 
not that I shall be lame all my life, and possibly something 
of an invalid too, as I have been this past year.” 

“You may get better again : you did before.” 

“ Colquhoun does not believe I shall, and is too kind to 
deceive me with false hopes ; nor does he think he can do any 
good by surgical means. I am not doctor enough to know 
why this is ; but I trust his opinion implicitly. Now, I have 
talked a great deal about myself, and made you look ver} r 
grave — a great deal graver than you need be. You sur- 
prised me into this confidence by your sisterly frankness, 
which pleased me very much, and made me equally candid on 
my side. But I cannot have you troubling yourself about 
me. The hardest part of being ill and helpless is the trouble 
it gives other people. Every cloud has its silver lining, and 
the silver lining to mine is very bright. You and I, Ursula, 
have a great many feelings in common, I think. We both 
feel that life is a great gift, and that we must try and make 
the most of it. We have both had our dreams and our am- 
bitions. You, I hope, may live to realize many of yours, and 
if I am not able to do as I intended, I have not the least 
doubt that it is because I was not fit for it, and that other 
work will be given me suited to my capacity. We shall be 
working together after all, I hope, although it may not appear 
on the surface.” 

“ It seems very, very hard,” burst out Ursula, after a 


MAKING FRIENDS. 


167 


pause of silence. “You might have done so much good. 
When there are so few who are willing to work, why should 
those that are be prevented ? ” 

“You are not prevented, Ursula.” 

“ No ; but that kind of work never attracted me.” 

“ What kind of work?” 

“ Oh, you know, visiting slums and preaching to dirty 
people — I don’t say it in any spirit of flippancy ; but that is 
not the work I want.” 

“No? Perhaps it wants you more than you want it.” 
He was smiling a little to himself, and added, presently, “ I 
was not thinking of one thing more than another. We must 
all judge to a certain extent for ourselves what our work in 
the world is to be ; yet whilst there is so much sin and suf- 
fering, ignorance and wretchedness there, it does not seem 
quite possible to shirk the responsibility of doing in some 
way or another just a little to lighten it. When I see any one 
with talent, energy, self-command, and resolution, it sets me 
thinking of what such a one might accomplish.” 

Ursula’s face was grave and absorbed, but by no means 
acquiescent. “I don’t think about things as you do,” she 
said. “ I can admire it in others, but I cannot copy it my- 
self. Besides, I like to see the reason of things and the 
justice of them. Why are you condemned to so much suf- 
fering and, perhaps, lifelong helplessness, when you might 
do so much good? I don’t want to be irreverent, but I 
cannot see why you put so much confidence in Providence, 
or in God, when you are being made to endure all this with- 
out any purpose at all. I could more easily believe in blind 
forces or mere chance governing the world than that so much 
pain and misery is sanctioned by God. There, I suppose 
I have shocked you horribly, and I didn’t really mean quite 


168 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


that, but it does seem so hard, so very hard, so meaningless 
and unjust.” 

Kingsley lay still for a long time, his hands clasped be- 
hind his head, his eyes fixed upon the "window. He did not 
look at all shocked, and presently he said, quietly : — 

“ It does not seem meaningless to me.” 

“ There can be no reason for it,” argued Ursula, still 
hotly. “ It is no good saying you see a reason.” 

“ Perhaps I see a good many,” he answered, smiling. 
“ It is wonderful how clear things grow by and by.” 

She looked at him intently. 

“ What do you mean? ” 

He looked at her with a smile. 

“ I will tell you that hy and by, when we know each 
other better. Can you trust me till then ? ” 

“ I shall always trust you, Kingsley,” answered Ursula, 
with grave emphasis. “I cannot understand you yet, and 
I still hope you may be wrong about yourself, but I like you 
very much, and I respect 3’ou and trust you.” 

She spoke as simply and frankly as a child, and he held 
out his thin hand with a lightening of his whole face. 

“That is very satisfactory,” he answered. “Then we 
are friends now, Ursula ? ” 

“ I hope so,” she answered, gravely ; and then, with a 
sudden burst of confidence, she told him of her past an- 
tipathy, and they laughed heartily together over the tale. 

It was impossible for Ursula to realize all at once what a 
very small space she and her family had occupied in her 
cousins’ field of vision, nor could Kingsley try too much to 
make this plain, but he could explain away much that had 
annoyed and offended them, and he took upon himself the 
burden of the whole misunderstanding and laid it all down 
to his own account. 


MAKING FRIENDS. 


169 


It was he who had engrossed so much of Hilda’s time and 
attention that she had been led to neglect all other claims ; 
his fault that she never paid calls or asked people to the 
house. Illness had made him selfish, and he took himself 
severely to task for having been so neglectful of others. 

His father’s marriage had been another strong element of 
distraction ; still he was full of a kind of amused compunc- 
tion for the slights that had apparently been put upon the 
family at the Warrens. He believed his father had always 
felt some annoyance at the old cause of offence, but for 
himself and his brother and sister he could answer that they 
bore no ill-will. It had been carelessness and preoccupation 
on their part, but nothing worse. 

He was much entertained by Ursula’s reminiscences of 
the visit to the Cedars a few days back. 

“ All my fault, as usual,” he said. “ I was very seedy. 
Hilda was wretched, and said she -must put you off till a 
better day, but I thought it would seem unfriendly, and 
wouldn’t let her. I had better have let her have her own 
way, as it seems, for we were evidently all particularly dis- 
agreeble. Now, Ursula, you are to promise to give me a 
chance of redeeming the character of the Cedars and its in- 
habitants. You and Phyllis, and your sister if she likes, 
must come and stay with us some day soon, and see if we 
cannot make up to you for all you have suffered at our 
hands.” 

“I should like to come very much,” answered Ursula. 
“ Being friends makes all the difference.” 



CHAPTER XII. 

FRESH STEPS. 

Yg' T seemed strange to Ursula during the days that fol- 
X lowed to feel that the antagonism she had always 
experienced towards her cousins was already a thing 
of the past, and falling more and more into abeyance each 
interview that she had with Kingsley ; but it was still 
stranger to find (on coming suddenly into the workroom on 
Tuesday afternoon) Gen. Tempest seated beside his son, 
looking very much at home, and talking to her mother as 
if they had always been on easy and cordial terms. 

The General had gone up to town with Hilda and Mon- 
tague the previous week, in order to attend a division in the 
House, and to transact some business. He had therefore 
heard nothing of Kingsley's misadventure until his return, 
the previous evening, and he had ridden across to the War- 
rens the following afternoon to see his son and arrange, if 
possible, for his transport home. He was a little annoyed at 
the whole thing, and had set out with the intention of rebuk- 
ing Kingsley somewhat sharply for allowing himself to accept 
hospitality from that household, but matters had turned out 
differently from what he had expected and upset all his cal- 
culations. 

Cecil, who was in the garden as he rode up, had ushered 
his uncle straight into the workroom, where Mrs. Tempest 
[ 170 ] 




FRESH STEPS. 


171 


was sitting with Kingsley. The General had never seen his 
sister-in-law before, yet he knew by instinct who it was, and, 
despite his annoyance at the encounter, he could not be any- 
thing but courteous and suave in his address. He bowed 
over her hand with old-fashioned courtliness, and something 
in the sweetness of her face and the gentle dignity of her 
manner went far to disarm his displeasure. 

“ I have come to look after this troublesome boy of mine, 
who has taken such unceremonious advantage of your kind 
hospitality,” he said, his face softening from its original look 
of haughty coldness. “ I call it pretty cool of him, quarter- 
ing himself upon you like this ” 

“We have all enjoyed his visit very much,” answered 
Mrs. Tempest, with a smile at Kingsley that indicated a 
great deal of mutual understanding. “ It is only the cause 
of it that we regret.” 

“ You are very good to say so,” returned the General. 
“ And how are you getting on, my boy? I should like to 
see you looking a little more robust. Ho you think he ought 
always to be as pale and thin as he is ? ” he added, appeal- 
ing to Mrs. Tempest. 

“ I am getting on famously,” answered Kingsley ; “much 
faster than Colquhoun expected. I shall soon be hobbling 
about again with a stick.” 

“ And when may we expect you home again? I suppose 
you could drive almost any day now.” 

But here Mrs. Tempest interposed. 

“We hope that you will let him stay a little longer. Dr. 
Colquhoun says that the change of air and scene has been 
undoubtedly beneficial to him ; and, although he should not 
have sent him away on purpose, yet, now that he is here, he 
recommends him not to be in a hurry to move ; and we are 


172 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


so much pleased to have him, that we hope you will spare 
him for another week.” 

“ You are very good, I am sure, my dear madam. Kings- 
ley, what do you say %o such a proposal? Are you not 
ashamed of giving so much trouble to everybody ? ” 

“lam afraid I am getting so spoiled that I am growing 
callous,” he answered, with the humorous gleam in his eye 
that made him look like his old self. “ I should like very 
much to stay, if Aunt Helen will have me. I have enjoyed 
my visit immensely, and I don’t want Hilda to see me till 
I have made up all the ground I have lost. I have written 
to Montague to say that he is to take her to the Fortescues 
for a week. She has not paid a visit there for more than a 
year, and she needs a change much more than I do. I told 
Montague I was staying here, but I said nothing about the 
original reason for it. I think he will take her somewhere 
else before coming home, and I should enjoy another week 
here very much.” 

It was whilst amicable talk of this sort was going on that 
Ursula entered the room, and the kindly greeting she re- 
ceived from her uncle was a source of no little surprise to 
her. 

“ Ursula is one of my very best friends,” said Kingsley, 
looking at her with a smile. “ She comes and talks to me 
in the evening, and we have capital battles and arguments 
on every imaginable subject. She always gets the best of 
it ; but that is as it should be.” 

“Of course, of course,” answered the General. “I 
hope you will not find the Cedars too far off to look in upon 
him often when he gets back, though, to be sure, he will soon 
be well enough himself to dispense with so much attention. 
I ’m afraid we shall have to stop that riding for a time, Kings- 


FRESH STEPS. 


173 


ley. It’s no good risking these pullbacks just for a little 
present pleasure.” 

' “ Perhaps I had better give it up for a time,” answered 
Kingsley “ but it is a temptation to see a little of the world 
again. Of course, Ursula will come to see me. I don’t 
mean to let her out of my clutches so easily ; and Beryl, and 
Phyllis too — we have a claim upon her, you know, sir.” 

“ To be sure, to be sure : she is my little ward, is she not? 
I should like to see her. My visit in London was so very 
hurried.” 

Phyllis and Beryl were summoned, and appeared in due 
course. It was a surprise to them to be confronted by the 
General ; but he spoke so kindly and pleasantly that, in 
spite of former prejudice, and what Beryl afterwards de- 
scribed as his “ grand air,” they found themselves quite 
ready to respond to his advances and to make ready prom- 
ises of future visits to the Cedars. * 

Whilst talk was flowing fast and easily, and the ice melt- 
ing quickly away, a voice outside the door exclaimed, 
“ Hullo ! what ’s the meaning of all this ? ” and Mr. Tempest 
and his two sons, dusty and travel-stained, and with their 
knapsacks on their backs, walked in a body into the room. 

For a moment a silence fell upon the group ; then Kings- 
ley half rose and addressed his uncle : — 

“ Indeed, sir, I am the guilty party, for it is I who have 
trespassed in your absence upon your hospitality, and, in a 
manner, taken French leave. My father is here to carry me 
off, but I have declined, for the present, to move.” 

A chorus of voices now arose, each telling the story in a 
different way, and in the hubbub of> sound the brothers 
exchanged a more cordial greeting than would have been 
possible under other circumstances. The boys were being 


174 


JOINT GUARDIANS* 


welcomed by tlieir sisters, laughing and chattering like so 
many magpies. Cecil had come in to add his voice to the 
general tumult, and it said much for Mr. Tempest’s prac- 
tised ear that he was able, in the midst of so much noise, to 
take in the leading facts of the story, and understand what 
really had occurred in his absence. 

Kingsley lay and looked on at this animated scene with 
a quiet amusement in his eyes. The eager impetuosity of 
his cousins interested and entertained him ; he liked to listen 
to their vigorous sallies and the keen retorts that were ban- 
died amongst them. Ted was giving a most comical account 
of their pedestrian tour, whilst Beryl relieved him of his 
knapsack, and Kingsley listened and laughed, and looked 
anything but the forbidding individual he had been de- 
scribed. Ted and Kenrick were decidedly at a loss to know 
on what footing he had established himself with the rest of 
the household, and for a time avoided addressing him indi- 
vidually ; but presently, when the General had been walked 
off by his brother and Mrs. Tempest to look round the place 
and have some tea, Ted turned to his cousin with a solemn 
twinkle in his eye, and asked, in a sort of stage aside : — 

“I say — I wish you’d tell me — has the family feud 
been made up ? ” 

Kingsley laughed heartily. 

• “I’m sure I hope so.” 

“Because it’s awfully confusing, all this sort of thing; 
makes a fellow’s head go round, don’t you know? When 
we went away we were all under a sort of tacit vow never 
to speak to any of you again, and when we come back we 
find you all hobnobbing together like bosom friends. It ’s 
like Mother Hubbard and her dog. One does n’t know what 
to be at next.” 


fresh steps. 


175 


Kingsley looked much amused. Ted had a faculty for 
saying the most outrageous things in so easy a fashion as 
to turn all awkwardness into ridicule. After that speech no 
more stiffness was possible, they all felt as if they had 
known each other for years. 

Kenrick sat down for Cecil to unstrap his knapsack. He 
looked at Kingsley and said : — 

“ I *ve not seen you for a year and more. You look as if 
you ’d had a tolerably stiff time of it.” 

Cecil nodded his head, and said, “ I should just think 
so ! ” under his breath. Kingsley smiled. 

“ I have very good times too. Everything cuts both 
ways, you know.” 

‘ ‘ And you ’ ve been here — ? ” 

“ Since Friday, wasn’t it? I have done very well, you 
see. I shall be walking about quite soon.” 

“Caught a runaway horse, did you? It was a pretty 
cool thing for you to try and do. You came off uncom- 
monly well, all things considered.” 

“ Yes ; you see, I knew the horse and he knew me. 
That makes all the difference. It was nothing more than 
a little passing wrench. Tell me about your walking tour. 
You have had capital weather for it, but rather hot. Where 
did you meet with these wonderful people that your brother 
has been describing ? ” 

“ Oh, the Monkey makes up all that.” 

“Well, that’s a good one. I like that!” protested the 
aggrieved Monkey; “ as if there was any need to improve 
upon facts when they were all so beautiful to start with ! ” 
and he launched out again into more and more detail as to 
the people they had met and the perils they had passed, 
and kept his hearers in convulsions of merriment, till the 
General came back to say good by to his son. 


176 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


It was definitely arranged that Kingsley should remain at 
the Warrens until the latter end of the next week, and the 
prolongation of his visit was a source of satisfaction to 
everybody. 

He began to lay aside invalid ways, and to join in the 
life of the busy household. He had a trusty staff to walk 
with, and was able to wander about the lower part of the 
house and into the garden and orchard that lay immediately 
round it. He would invade the girls’ kitchen, and on those 
occasions was always pounced upon to give a lecture in 
physics or astronomy. Ursula came to have a great respect 
for his intellectual powers, and the sort of bond of confi- 
dence and mutual understanding that existed between them 
was a source of pleasure to both. Wonderful photographs 
arrived for Ursula, from London, of the phenomena in sun 
and stars, in which she felt most keenly interested. Her 
absorption and delight were very great, and pleased Kings- 
ley better than any thanks could do. He was fond of all 
the girls ; Berj 1 amused him by her endless flow of spirits, 
and Phyllis’s gentle sweetness and frank affection were very 
winning. He himself was a great favorite and a welcome 
intruder everywhere. It was very plain that the strained 
relations between the two houses were quite done away with. 

The General was not long in repeating his visit to the 
Warrens. Perhaps, the ice once broken, he was not sorry 
to feel that the long-standing ill-will was to be a thing of 
the past, and that he could gradually approach his brother 
and the family with a feeling of friendliness. Mrs. Tempest 
had made a most favorable impression upon the General ; 
and, if he was won by her sweetness, it would be absurd to 
continue the coldness towards his brother, which had been 
mainly due to his marriage. 


FRESH STEPS. 


177 


So when Venice suggested one day at lunch that they 
two should drive or ride across to see Kingsley and his hosts, 
the General acquiesced with readiness, not indisposed for 
the excursion. 

They drove over, the heat being rather great for riding, 
but learnt that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Tempest was at home, 
though expected shortly. Venice was, however, conversant 
with the ways of the house, and led the way towards the 
workroom, whence proceeded the sound of laughing voices. 

The Tempests of the Warrens were a great family for 
games of a certain description, into which they entered with 
characteristic heartiness and spirit. One of their favorites 
was to write stories in succession, handing round the papers 
with the former paragraph turned down and only the last 
words visible to the writer, who was to take up the thread of 
the narrative described by the title. They also complicated 
and heightened the ludicrousness of the thing by each choos- 
ing some known writer of marked style, in imitation of 
whom their respective paragraphs were written, and the 
absurd patchwork thus produced was of a delightfully in- 
congruous description. 

Kingsley was being initiated into the mysteries of this 
favorite game of theirs, and was enjoying the fun im- 
mensely. The boys were with their tutor, but Kenrick and 
the three girls were with him, and they were laughing heartily 
as Kenrick read aloud the joint productions they had just 
been composing. 

Ursula had taken Carlyle as her model, Carlyle at his 
stormiest and abruptest ; Beryl followed, with Buskin to the 
life — only more so. Kenrick had chosen Bret Harte as his 
pattern, and Kingsley had modelled his style upon the heroic 
blank verse of the Laureate. Phyllis, who as she expressed 
12 


178 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


it was “ not clever,” contented herself with her own style, 
Which mingled quaintly and oddly with the sharp terseness 
and rounded periods of her fellow-authors. The whole was 
a delightful medley, and evoked a chorus of laughter as it 
was read over to the listeners. 

For a moment, in the confusion of voices, the General 
and Venice were not observed, so that they had the benefit 
of the greater part of the reading ; but Ursula saw them at 
length standing just within the open doorwa}', and made a 
signal to Kenrick to stop. 

“We are interrupting a merry conclave, I am afraid,” 
said the General, in his genial way. “How are you all? 
Your mother well? I shall hope to see her before I leave. 
Better, Kingsley ? That is well ; you look almost yourself 
again. This kind of thing seems to suit you. I must ask 
Mrs. Tempest for her prescription.” 

Kingsley laughed. lie looked very bright, as if he were 
enjoying himself mightily, as indeed was the case. The 
change was good for him in every way, and he was benefiting by 
it beyond all expectation. There was something decidedly 
infectious in the stirring activity and spontaneous gayety of 
the household of which he was now a member, and the new 
faces round him and the different life all contributed to his 
enjoyment, and there was none of the sense of difficulty and 
oppression that had sometimes clouded his life at home since 
his father had brought back a new mistress to the Cedars. 

“ Shall we adjourn to the garden?” suggested Kenrick, 
who had just been introduced to Venice. “This room has 
hardly accommodation for so large a party.” 

The hint was immediately acted upon ; there was less 
difficulty and constraint out of doors in the garden overlook- 
ing the wide moorland than in any of the low-ceiled rooms 


fresh steps. 


179 


of the old farm-house. The General himself led the way, 
addressing Phyllis in kindly fashion as he did so. 

“You know y'ou belong partly to me, my dear,” he said, 
glancing smilingly into the sweet, childlike face beside him, 
“ and I have not renounced all claim to my brother’s only 
child. You will think I am very remiss as a guardian, yet I 
have had a great deal on my hands of late ; but it is too bad 
of you, don’t you think, never to have come to the Cedars all 
these weeks ? ” ^ 

“ I did go once,” answered Phyllis, glancing up at him 
from beneath her long eyelashes. 

“ Then I could not have been at home, I think. I should 
like to have taken you over your father’s old home ; but per- 
haps Hilda did the honors better than I coiild have done.” 

“ I only saw the drawing-room,” said Phyllis. 

“ Ah ! you would be in the gardens, to be sure. Hilda is 
fond of being out of doors ; but you liked the garden at least, 
I hope?” 

Phyllis was looking half mischievous, half demure. 

“ I did not see it, except from the windows.” 

“Dear! dear! What could Hilda have been thinking 
about? What did you see ? ” 

“We saw the drawing-room,” repeated Phyllis, gravely. 
“ Mrs. Tempest gave us some tea, and then we came home 
again.” 

The General looked down at her again, and then smiled. 

“I am afraid you did not enjoy your visit very much, 
then ? ” 

“Not very much,” was the candid answer. 

“You must come again soon, and let us redeem our char- 
acter for hospitality. It has not made you take a dislike to 
the Cedars, I hope, Phyllis ? ” 


180 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


The gray eyes were raised truthfully to his face, but the 
girl did not speak. Somehow that frank, fearless gaze 
pleased the General, who held courage and straightforward- 
ness in high esteem. 

“ My little ward has already decided, I see, which of her 
guardians she prefers,’’ he said, smiling kindly. “ Is that 
decision to be like the laws of the Medes and Persians, 
Phyllis, that can never be reversed ? ” 

The girl’s 'face had flushed a little, but she had never 
liked this other guardian better than at this moment. 

“ Uncle Reginald,” she said, — and the name sounded 
pleasantly in his ears, — “I don’t want to have favorites ; I 
want to love you both alike ; but — but — you know this 
seems like my home, although I have lived here only such a 
little while ; and they have all been so good to me, every one, 

— Uncle Arthur and Aunt Helen, and all the rest, too. I 
think I should be very ungrateful if I did n’t think the War- 
rens a nicer place than the Cedars.” 

He smiled still very kindly. 

“But you will come to see us still, sometimes, if we 
promise to make much of you when you do?” 

The candid gray eyes were raised to his. 

“It is not being made much of I care about, Uncle 
Reginald.” 

“ What is it, then, Phyllis?” 

“ I think it is being loved,” she answered, simply. 

“ And could we not love you, too?” he asked. 

“ Yes, I suppose so,” was the grave answer ; “ but — but 

— somehow I don’t think the Cedars is such a good place for 
loving as the Warrens.” 

For a moment the General looked grave ; then his smile 
beamed out once more. 


FRESH STEPS. 


181 


“You must tell Kingsley that opinion,” he said, “ and 
see what he says to it.” 

‘ 4 Everybody would be fond of Kingsley, wherever he 
was,” answered Phyllis, quickly. “I was not thinking of 
him. He is so different from anybody else.” 

It was pretty obvious by this time of what she was thinking. 
The General was perfectly well aware what was in her mind. 

“Well, my dear,” he said, kindly, “we are none of us 
too old to learn. My brother and I are your joint guardians, 
so you will have to be a little link between us.” 

Phyllis slipped her hand within his arm, and looked up 
half timidly, but the face above her was not at all stern. 
Perhaps the General had never before valued family love 
and union so much as he did now, when there was a certain 
amount of discord beneath his own roof. 

“Aunt Helen is so sweet, Uncle Reginald,” she said, 
very softly. “ You could not help loving her if you knew 
her. Ask Kingsley if it is not so.” 

“ She has spoiled that great boy of mine till he declines 
to come home. Well, Phyllis, my dear, I am quite prepared 
to take your word for what you say ; and I shall expect to 
see you sometimes at the Cedars now, to show you bear no 
malice.” 

“ Of course I will come,” answered Phyllis, flushing and 
smiling with pleasure. “ I shall like it very much when I 
know you all better, I am sure.” 

Whilst Phyllis was winning her way very fast to the 
General’s heart, Kenrick and Venice were walking together 
in advance, and exchanging confidences of a kind somewhat 
unusual at a first interview. 

Venice was in one of her rather odd moods, when a crowd 
of conflicting and hardly compiehended emotions took pos- 


182 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


session of her, and stirred up a peculiar mental activity that 
found vent in unusual frankness of speech. 

“Where is your mother?” she asked, presently. “I 
hoped I should see her to-day.” 

“ I hope she will be in before you leave.” 

“I think,” said Venice, deliberately, “that she is the 
most perfect woman I know.” 

Kenrick bowed gravely. 

“ I am quite of the same opinion, Miss Edgeler, and my 
acquaintance with her is somewhat longer than yours.” 

“ Another way of saying, I suppose, that I know nothing 
about it. One does not require to know some things — a 
woman does not, at least ; one feels them by instinct, like 
the lower animals. It may be different, perhaps, with men.” 

He smiled a little under his mustache. 

“ Are men too high or too low to share those instincts 
common to women and animals ? ” he asked. 

“That, I should think, must be best known to themselves.” 

He made no reply. Presently she asked, with the same 
abruptness of manner, “ Are you the doctor-brother I have 
heard about ? ” 

He made a sign of assent. 

“ You are very enthusiastic, and all that, about your pro- 
fession ? ” 

“ Well, yes, I hope so ; it is a wide one, you know.” 

“ Then, I wish you would tell me what it feels like to be 
enthusiastic. I ’d give a good deal to know.” 

Kenrick looked at her with more intentness than before. 

“ Why do you say that? ” 

“ I say it because I feel it. I feel it every time I come here, 
or see any of you. Your lives seem worth living, and other 
people’s don’t — that is all. Shall we join the others now ? ” 



> 


CHAPTER XIH. 


A COMPACT. 



INGSLEY’S visit to the Warrens extended itself 
to a fortnight, and even at the end of that time 
he was in no hurry to return, and his cousins 


grumbled a good deal at giving him up. He had not gone 
in disguise to the house, as he had told Mervyn he should 
lilxe to do, nevertheless he had made his way there with 
marked success, and the old feeling of indignant hostility 
with the inmates of the Cedars was fast passing into a family 


joke, 


There were a great many family jokes in that laughter- 
loving household, and Kingsley entered into them with keen 
zest and enjoyment. He had a fund of quiet humor at his 
command, and held his own in an encounter of wits as well 
as any one. He enjoyed the freedom from observation 
and anxious watchfulness that he gained in this house. 
Nobody was anxious about him here, nobody was haunted 
by fears lest he should overdo himself, or troubled by vague 
dread that he was not as well as he appeared to be. He 
went on his way unquestioned and unopposed, and very 
pleasant he found it, pleasant and good for him in all ways. 
Life looked brighter than it- had done for some time. He 
had escaped for a time from under the shadow of the cloud 
that had gathered over him. 


[ 183 ] 




184 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


He liked all his cousins and they liked him. Cecil 
attached himself to him with a sort of dog-like fidelity, ran 
his errands, acted as his valet, looked after him with a sort 
of old-fashioned seriousness that tickled the young man’s 
fancy, and originated an odd sort of friendship between 
them. 

He liked the low, quaint farm-house, that had no long 
corridors or slippery parquetry floors to increase his lame- 
ness or remind him of it ; he could hobble into the garden 
with his stick, and get as far as the edge of the moorland, 
and enjoy the wide expanse stretched out before him as only 
those can enjoy who have been long shut up in one place. 
The easy, unceremonious ways of the house suited him just 
now better than anything else. He felt lost in a crowd ; he 
could come and go unremarked and unquestioned, and he 
was kept well amused by studying the natures and characters 
of those about him as well as in sharing their eager pursuits. 

He was exceedingly fond of his aunt, and she returned 
his affection warmly. She was much pleased at the visible 
enjoyment his visit had been to him, and would gladly have 
prolonged it further had the General not been wishful to 
have his son at home again. 

“You must ask me here again, Aunt Helen,” he said, 
before he took his departure. “ You can’t think how I have 
enjoyed myself amongst you all. If you will invite me here 
again before the summer is over, I shall be sure to come. 
Your house is perfectly delightful.” 

“ Why before the summer is over?” asked Cecil. “Don’t 
you think we are any good except in summer? Do you 
suppose we hibernate ? ” 

Kingsley laughed. 

“That was not exactly my meaning, youngster; but it 


A COMPACT. 


185 


is very plain you think you have had enough of me for one 
summer.” 

u 0h, have I? You’ll soon see about that. Don’t you 
flatter 3 ^ourself you ’ve seen the last of me yet.” 

And Kingsley drove away amid a general chorus of re- 
gret that made him feel more emphatically than ever that he 
had fallen among friends. 

Montague and Hilda were still away, though expected 
back very shortly now. Venice, however, welcomed Kings- 
ley’s return very warmly, for she had not at all enjoyed 
the last fortnight, during which the house had been filled 
with Mrs. Tempest’s guests — old friends whom she had 
known in less prosperous days, and to whom she was not 
averse to exhibit her fine house and luxurious surroundings. 

“ I do not get on with mamma’s friends,” said Venice, in 
her incisive way. “ And she is always quite different when 
they are here. I dislike it all very much.” 

Kingsley found that he, too, disliked it a good deal — 
found his step-mother’s friends decidedly uncongenial, al- 
though he did his utmost to entertain them, and was not 
prejudiced against them as his brother would bdVe been. 

Still he objected to the tone of their conversation and the 
atmosphere they seemed to bring with them, and he wrote 
to his brother urging him to keep Hilda away until the house 
should be clear again, which he consented to do. 

Kingsley was much more conscious of the ground he had 
lost now that he was come back at the Cedars than he had 
been at the Warrens. Distances seemed double their normal 
length, steps were a great difficulty to him, and the long 
dinner at the end of the day was quite an object of dread. 
The weather had set in excessively hot, and he missed the 
cool retreat of his west room more than any one knew, 


186 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Venice was very good to him and spared him as far as she 
was able, but he quickly lost the brightness and elasticity of 
spirit he had gained during his stay at the Warrens, and 
felt the old shadow creeping over him once more. 

But Kingsley did not readily yield to depression, and as 
he lay in the garden under the shade of his favorite cedar- 
tree one quiet Sunday morning he looked the future full in the 
face, and fought out the battle with himself until he knew 
that the victory was his. 

Mrs. Tempest’s visitors had all gone. Hilda and Mon- 
tague were returning next day. A sense of relief and 
pleasure attended both these thoughts, and lightened the 
load that had lain somewhat heavily upon him of late. 

And what was the shadow that lay upon him, the burden 
that sometimes seemed somewhat hard to bear ? It was not 
altogether the lameness and weakness, nor the constant pain 
to which he had now grown pretty well used. It was the 
slowly growing conviction that his life was gradually wasting 
away, and that the warnings he had received once or twice 
before were about to fulfil themselves now. He had always 
known vaguely that he had what is Commonly termed “ no 
constitution — no stamina.” He had known that any serious 
illness was likely to go hardly with him, and that he had never 
been expected to pull through in the winter when he was so 
ill. Having done so, however, he had begun to hope, almost 
against hope, that he should be a strong man yet, even 
though he might not entirely lose his lameness, even though 
he was aware that his friend Colquhoun was very doubtful 
about him, despite his apparent improvement. But now he 
began to doubt it himself. He felt a curious lack of vitality 
and power. He remembered how his mother had faded 
away without apparent adequate cause, and he felt that he 


A COMPACT. 


187 


might even now be following in her steps. Yet he was 
young, and the love of life was strong within him. There 
were moments when he rebelled against the thought of death, 
dark hours sometimes when it seemed hard to him that he 
might not live to do the work he had planned to do, but was 
asked instead merely to suffer and perhaps to die. 

And yet what greater honor could he have given to him 
than to„be called upon to do not his own will but that of the 
Master to whose service he had pledged himself ? Might not 
the very things that seemed hard in the present be the means 
of teaching him lessons that would possibly have been other- 
wise missed, leading him to the haven he might perchance 
have passed by ? Was it not an honor to be asked to suffer, 
when Christ had Suffered infinitely more ? to carry a heavy 
cross when His had been so much heavier? Would He ever 
forget the faithful servant toiling wearily in His footsteps? 
Would He ever deny the strengthening, comforting presence 
of His own Spirit? 

A peaceful smile stole over Kingsley’s face : the bitterness 
was all gone now. He looked round him at the beautiful, 
sunlit world, and its Sabbath calm seemed to sink into his 
very soul. There was nothing of sadness in his face now, 
only a calm serenity that spoke of a mind at rest. 

“ Thou wilt help him in perfect peace, whose mind is 
stayed on Thee.” 

He heard 'the return of the carriage at length, and, in 
another minute, he saw Cecil running out of the house and 
making straight for his retreat. 

“Well, old chap,” he asked, smiling his welcome, “and 
what brings yonJiere to-day ? ” 

“ Oh, I wanted to see that you were getting along all 
right ! ” answered Cecil, surveying his friend, the object of his 


188 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


secret enthusiasm, with critical eyes. “ I don’t think you 
look very well yet. You ’d best come back with me to the 
Warrens. We miss you awfully. The girls were saying so 
only last night.” 

“ It ’s very good of you, I ’m sure.” 

“ Oh, fudge ! you made it so jolly when you were there, 
you know.” 

Kingsley laughed with a keen sense of the ludicrous. 

“ Did I, mdeed? I ’m sure I am delighted to hear it. I 
certainly had no idea I was such an entertaining and enliven- 
ing guest.” 

“ Oh, but you were, though ! Girls like a fellow all the 
better for being lame, if he ’s clever : it keeps him at home, 
with them ; and you put them up to a lot of dodges with their 
reading, you know. I wish you ’d come back. I ’ve wanted 
to see you all the week, but Mervyn wouldn’t let me off my 
lessons, so to-day I just asked the Generel for a lift ; I told 
him I wasn’t comfortable without looking in on you, now 
that Colquhoun is away. So here I am, and here I shall stay 
tiff night.” 

“So much the better for me, young ’un. Now, tell me 
about everything. How is your mother, and how is every- 
body?” 

“ Oh, all right. We always are all right. Ken is coming 
here, by and by. He is walking with Venice. She^said she 
would rather walk, and he, of course, was delighted. I think 
he rather smiles on her, do you know. ” 

“ My dear boy ! ” 

“Well, what? A fellow has a right to be sweet on a 
pretty girl if he likes, I suppose. Ken isn’t much given to 
that sort of thing, but I think he ’s in for it now. What 
relation would that make her to me — sister-in-law on one 


A COMPACT. 


189 


side, and step-cousin-in-law on the other, wouldn’t it? 
Rather a complicated sort of connection ! ” 

Kingsley was much amused. 

“ You are a caution of a fellow, I must say,” he remarked. 
“ I hope you choose your confidants with discretion.” 

“ Oh, yes, trust me for that ! I am discretion itself ; but I 
don’t care what I say to you : I know it ’s safe enough. 
You ’re a fine hand at deception yourself.” 

“ Candid, at any rate. Now help me up, youngster. I 
must get back to the house.” 

“You walked better than this at the Warrens.” 

“I’m stiff with lying on the ground so long. Don’t you 
croak, you young shaver. You ’re not Colquhoun yet, you 
know. I want to get as far as the mound over there this 
afternoon, if I can, and get a look at the sea.” 

“ Ken will help you,” said Cecil, “ and I ’ll bring Venice 
along too. I rather like her : she ’s such a queer kind of fish. 
Then we ’ll let those two go philandering off together, and 
you and I can have a talk.” 

Cecil carried out this programme to the letter when the 
time came. He and Venice strolled on in front, whilst Kings- 
ley and Kenrick followed, making slowly for a little beech- 
crowned eminence that commanded a wide view over the sea. 

“ Do you know a clergyman in London of the name of 
Holmes ? ” asked Kenrick, as they walked on together. 

Kingsley looked at him quickly. 

“ Very well indeed. He was my great friend at Oxford, 
and took the church a few years ago. I hoped to have gone 
, to helpfdm there once.” i 

^ So he tells me. I only know him slightly ; but I have 
some thoughts of taking a practice in his neighborhood next 
year. That is what has brought us into communication with 
one another.” 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


190 

“ Indeed ? ” questioned Kingsley with interest. 

“ It seems that one of the doctors there is/going to give 
up shortly — within a year, that is. He wishes to sell his 
practice, and, as it is not a lucrative one, it is not very dear, 
and I could afford to be the purchaser. It lies in an over- 
crowded, very poor part; the work is hard, the pay small; 
but I have always had a fancy for doctoring the lower orders, 
and I think it would suit me. I am young and strong, and 
am not afraid of work. There is a good chance, too, that, 
with pains and industry, something fairly good might be made 
out of it.” 

Kingsley looked much interested. 

“ You will have a wide field before you, Kenrick.” 

“ I think so. I only wish there was a chance of your 
coming there too.” 

“ I could find it in my heart to echo the wish, but, putting 
that aside, tell me more about it. You will not be going 
yet?” 

“ No ; he does not give up till next year, and then he is 
going to get some colonial hospital appointment, but the 
hospital is not yet finished, and he will remain where he is 
till he is wanted.” 

“And you?” 

“ I shall give myself a good long holiday, which I think I 
have earned by hard work for years. In the autumn I may 
possibly take Mr. Fisher’s practice here for a while, under 
Colquhoun. I hear Fisher is very anxious for a few months’ 
rest. He is out of health, they say, only he can’t afford,^ 
long holiday. I should be glad enough to take the work fof 
the sake of the experience, and perhaps something of the 
kind may be arranged. Colquhoun sounded me about it the 
other day, and I told him I was willing enough.” 


A COMPACT. 


191 


“ It would be pleasant to have you here during the win- 
ter ; I should be glad for poor Fisher to get a good rest.” 

“ I thought Colquhoun helped him a good deal ! ” 

“Yes, but Fisher always has nominal charge of the 
cases, and pockets the fees. He is a good little fellow, very 
careful aud conscientious, even if. not very clever. Col- 
quhoun only attends patients on those conditions. He only 
cares for what he calls scientific cases. He never takes 
money. Fisher gets all that, and needs it too, with his deli- 
cate wife and large family. Colquhoun is a very good fellow. 
He gets him out of all his difficulties, and undertakes all 
operations. Fisher has quite a name with people who don’t 
understand the secret working of matters.” 

And so, talking and discussing one thing and another, 
they reached their destination, where was a comfortable seat 
overlooking the sea. 

Kingsley sat down, drawing a long breath, and looking 
about him with keen pleasure. But he wanted to hear more 
about Kenrick and his plans, and drew him out with ques- 
tions, whilst Venice sat still and listened, making little sharp 
speeches from time to time, as it seemed natural to her to do. 

“ I cannot imagine how any one in his senses can live in 
the east of London,” she said. 

Kenrick looked at her keenly. 

“ Why not? ” 

“ It is such a disgusting neighborhood.” 

“ Have you ever lived there to try? ” 

* . She gave a little shiver. 

“ No, indeed. I should be very sorry.” 

“Then you will pardon my saying that you are quite 
unable to offer an opinion on the point.” 

She smiled a little scornfully. 


192 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“Really? You think nothing but experience can justify 
an opinion ? ” 

“ Certainly not.” 

“ Your own experience is very wide, I suppose?” 

“ Tolerably so. My hospital is not so very far distant 
from the part I intend to live in, and I have been in lodgings 
there for many years.” 

“You will tell me next, I suppose, that the society is 
delightful.” 

His face was to the full as scornful as hers. 

“ Society in your sense of the word there is none, I fully 
admit; in mine, a good deal.” 

She raised her eyes and looked at him full in the face. 

“May I ask what you mean by the expression ‘your 
sense of the word ’ ? ” 

“ Certainly. I mean the kind of lawn-tennis-playing and 
pleasure-loving people among whom your time is spent. We 
have not many such in our part of the world.” 

She had never taken her eyes from his face. 

“ Praj 7 by what right do you opine that my life has been 
spent amongst such people ? ” 

“ Has it not? ” 

“ That depends on what you choose to call life,” was 
the somewhat enigmatic answer. “We should have to 
come to a definition of terms before I could answer that 
question.” 

“ Suppose you come to a definition of terms whilst you 
explore the caves in the rocks down there. I don’t believe 
you have ever seen them, Kenrick, and the tide is just right 
now. — Venice, will you do the honors for me? I am afraid 
the steep path down to the beach is rather beyond me 
to-day.” 


A COMPACT. 


193 


Venice rose without either eagerness or reluctance, but 
with the quiet indifference that seemed to characterize all 
her actions. 

Cecil giggled audibly as the pair disappeared together 
down the narrow path. 

u You managed that very neatly.” 

“ Be quiet, you young rascal ! You’re too old to be the 
enfant terrible. I sent them away because I want to be quiet 
and enjoy myself and the sea without having to talk. If 
you think you ’ll be dull, you’d better go with them and have 
a scramble about the rocks.” 

“Thanks, that *8 more in the Monkey’s line than mine. 
I’d sooner stay here with you. I don’t care about playing 
old gooseberry. ” 

So for a good while the oddly assorted pair sat silent, 
quietly enjoying the beauty and fragrance of all around. 
The sea laughed and sparkled in the sunshine. The white 
gulls dipped their snowy wings in the blue-green mirror, and 
sailed above it in their graceful flight, an embodiment of 
life and joy and buoyant motion. The gentle plash on the 
beach beneath was like soft music. Everything was very 
calm and beautiful, and spoke an eloquent language of its 
own, heard only by those whose ears were open and whose 
minds were awake to catch the tender whispers. 

Cecil was not altogether insensible to such impressions, 
but his thoughts were more engrossed by Kingsley than by 
any beauty in the world around him. He had conceived a 
curious sort of admiration and enthusiasm for this cousin of 
his, and he was never so well pleased as when admitted to 
his company. He looked at Kingsley’s face long and ear- 
nestly, until the fixedness of his gaze aroused the young 
man’s attention, and he turned to the boy with a smile. 

13 


194 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“Well, Cecil?” 

“ Oh, I was only thinking.” 

“ What about? Something very solemn ? ” 

Cecil’s face was very grave. 

“ I don’t know what you would call it. It worries me a 
good deal. I mean what you said to Ursula that Sunday 
evening after you came to us.” 

Kingsley looked at him quickly. 

“ What do you know about it? ” 

“Ursula did not tell me. She is safe enough. She 
never betrays confidence. No ; I was there all the time 
curled up behind the curtain on the window-seat. I had 
a headache, and I slipped in there to be quiet when the 
mother was talking to you just before she went out, and I 
fell asleep and onty woke up to hear you talking to Ursula. 
I don’t know why I didn’t show myself, but I felt more like 
sitting still. Perhaps it was mean of me ; but when I am 
like that I do so hate to move or speak. I heard everything, 
and sometimes I can’t get it out of my head.” 

“ What? ” 

“Why, that you will always be lame, and that you can’t 
do the work you want.” 

Something very like tears glistened in the boy’s eyes, 
and Kingsley was much touched. 

“My dear little chap,” he said, kindly, “you must not 
trouble yourself over that. I am getting very well used to 
my lameness, and there are men in the world, I am quite 
sure, who will be found to do the work I meant to do — to 
do it, most likely, far better than I could.” 

Cecil was silent for a moment, and then he burst out 
suddenly : — 

“ About doing it better is all bosh ; nobody could do that, 


A COMPACT. 


195 


nobody in the world, I ’m sure ; but I did think about other 
men being found for it. Kingsley, do you think I should 
ever be any good at that kind of thing ? ” 

Cecil’s eyes were aglow with a curious light, his cheeks 
were flushed, and his breath came rather short and fast. 

“ I know I ’m not good, or anything like that. I don’t 
know about ever being a clergyman, though I should like 
that best, if I could ever be good enough; but I always 
have wanted to be useful. I hate to think of people who 
have to live without any beauty, or music, or anything to 
make them happy ; and since I ’ve thought more about it 
I’ve wanted more and more to help them. I’m only a boy 
now, but I shall grow up very fast. If I thought I could 
take your place ever such a little, could do a little of the 
work you would have done if you had been able, I think my 
life would seem just about ten times better than it ever 
did before. Kingsley, will you give me leave to try? Do 
you mind my trying to believe I could make myself more 
fit — just a little like what you would have been — fit to do 
some of the work you would have done if you had been 
able?” 

Cecil had spoken with quick and rather incoherent vehe- 
mence, but his meaning was plain enough. Kingsley was 
profoundly touched by the boy’s words and manner, and, 
above all, by his perfect sincerity. He stretched out his 
hand and laid it upon Cecil’s. 

“You are something like a friend, old chap,” he said, in 
a voice that almost brought Cecil’s tears back. “ I need 
hardly say how gladly and gratefully I accept such an offer.” 

“ You do? ” cried Cecil, eagerly. “ You don’t think it all 
nonsense because I ’m a boy ? you don’t think I shall change 
my mind ? ” 


196 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ No, Cecil, I don’t. I have no reason to suppose you 
changeable.” 

“And I’m not,” answered the boy, firmly. “Indeed, 
Kingsley, I ’m not. And you will let me try ? ” 

Kingsley smiled. 

“Your parents are the people to give their consent to 
any scheme that affects the course of your future life ; but 
I can only say that if your way opens out in the manner you 
now wish, I for one shall be very glad and grateful. I may 
not live to see your work in life, Cecil, but I have a feeling 
that death does not quite separate us from those we love 
here. I think that I shall know ; I think perhaps that we 
shall be near to one another, nearer perhaps than you will 
know.” 

Cecil’s face was grave and awed, but he did not utter 
any protestations. 

“ Then you understand all about it, Kingsley, and you 
do not think me very vain and foolish for trying to do your 
work for you ? ” 

Kingsley smiled. 

“ Indeed no, Cecil ; it is quite likely you will do the 
work a great deal better than I could hope to do.” 



CHAPTER XTV. 


HOME AGAIN. 


H ! liow delightful it is to be at home again ! ” 
exclaimed Hilda, as the carriage drew up at 
the foot of the wide flight of steps before the 
door of Chandos House. “ Mervyn, you here to welcome 
us ! That is nice of you. How is Kingsley ? how are they 
all? You do not know how glad I am to be back.” 

“Not more glad than your friends are to welcome you,” 
answered Mervyn, with his usual air of sleepy gallantry. 
“ Kingsley is in the garden, very impatient to see you. I 
was sent to convey you to him as quickly as possible. Mrs. 
Tempest and her daughter are out. Miss Edgeler asked me 
to say that no slight was meant, but that she knew you 
would want your brother all to yourself at first, so she had 
purposely taken her mother away.” 

“ It was kind of Venice to think of it,” said Hilda, 
quickly. “ I must learn to like her better. Kingsley sa}’s 
she has been so good to him. Come, Montague, we must 
go at once to Kingsley.” 

Hilda’s face was more bright than it had been for 
months, and had lost that look of settled mournfulness 
that had characterized it for so long. The change had 
been very beneficial to her both in mind and body. She 
had shaken off the depression that had clung about her so 

[197J 



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JOINT GUARDIANS. 


long, and had resolved to face life cheerfully and hopefully 
once more. She had made up her mind to accept her father’s 
second marriage without any more rebellious thoughts, to try 
and keep the peace with her step-mother, and to make 
friends, if possible, with Venice. She would devote herself 
to Kingsley till she had nursed him back to health and 
strength, and then, with one or both of her brothers, she 
would find a home somewhere, and bury the sorrows of the 
past in tender sisterly cares for their welfare in the present. 

Mervyn, who knew by heart every line of her face, was 
struck at once with the change that had passed over it, and 
his heart throbbed with almost the first impulse of hope 
that he had permitted himself to indulge. He had loved her 
so faithfully and so long ; had waited with such patient self- 
mastery. Was he to be rewarded at last? Was time about 
to heal her wound and leave her free to love once more ? 

“ Ah, there is Kingsley ! ” cried Hilda, suddenly speeding 
onwards in her own graceful way. “ My own dear boy, how 
good it is to see you again ! ” 

He returned her caresses with a warmth equal to her own, 
and turned to his brother with his kindling smile. 

“Montague, old fellow, it is good to have you back! 
How brown you are ! I suppose you have been yachting 
half your time ? ” 

“ Pretty well these past ten days. You ought to have 
been there, King,” scanning his brother’s face with covet 
solicitude. “You don’t look as I should like to see you. 
What have you been doing to him, Mervyn, to let him get so 
white?” 

“ You’re jealous of my superior complexion,” said Kings- 
ley. “Is n’t he, Hilda? because he ’s as brown as a Hindoo 
himself. Now sit down and take your ease ; I am going to 


HOME AGAIN. 


199 


pour out the tea. I must learn how to be a complete old 
maid if I am to be debarred from manly sports for a time. ,, 

Hilda was determined to see everything couleur de rose. 
She would not admit even to herself that Kingsley’s appear- 
ance had been a shock to her. She said it was only because 
she had been so long with Montague, and had expected the 
other brother to look as he did. 

“ So you have been taking advantage of our absence to do 
all kinds of dissipated things!” she said, gayly. “Fancy 
your paying a visit all by yourself ! ” 

“ Yes ; and to the Warrens, of all places,” chimed in Mon- 
tague. “ Come now, King, out with it! What did it all 
mean ? ” 

“ It meant that I had a very pleasant time there, and that 
everybody was most kind. These cousins of ours deserve 
better treatment at our hands than they have yet received, 
Hilda. I have made great friends with them all.” 

“Have you, though?” questioned Montague. “Then 
Hilda and I must follow suit, I suppose. What put it into 
your head to go. there?” 

“ I always had a fancy that way, didn’t I, Mervyn? I 
liked what you told us of the household. They are our 
cousins, you know, and it seemed quite absurd, after being 
neighbors for a year, that we should hardly know anything 
about them. They are very nice, every one of them. The 
General quite lost his heart to Mrs. Tempest, and to Phyllis 
too, I think. She is to come here by and by, I believe. He 
will not be content now to leave her entirely to her other 
guardian.” 

“ I shall be very glad,” answered Hilda. “ I think Phyllis 
looks very nice ; but I doubt if she will care to come. I can’t 
help thinking they are all rather prejudiced against us.” 


200 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Kingsley looked amused. 

u They treated me to some very entertaining confidences 
on that subject whilst I was there. They really made me feel 
quite ashamed of myself and of us all. I had never looked 
at things quite from their stand-point before.” 

“ Tell us about it,” said Hilda, pleased to see him so 
animated and interested ; and he proceeded to give an amus- 
ing account of the family at the Warrens, — their occupations, 
their studies, their views of life, and their ways of going on. 
Mervyn joined in, and they soon got a very good idea of all 
that had passed during their absence, as well as a clew to 
the reason that had first made him a guest in his uncle’s 
house. 

Hilda shook her head at him when she heard of that part 
of the business. 

“I told you you would do something rash if I once let 
you out of my care,” she said. “However, as you en- 
joyed yourself so much, I ’ll forgive you this time. Mervyn 
shall tell me the rest of the news whilst we go round the 
garden, which I am thirsting to do. You and Montague will 
have lots to say to one another, and I am longing to make a 
tour of inspection.” She spoke gaylv and smiled back at 
Kingsley as she moved away, but when she was alone with 
Mervyn in the rose garden she turned to him with a sort of 
quick anxiety and asked : — 

“ You don’t think him worse than when we went away?” 

“I think not; certainly not, considering that he had a 
sort of relapse. Why do you ask?” 

She laughed a little constrainedly. 

“ Oh, I don’t know. I am foolish and nervous, I think, anc 
things strike one differently after an absence. He does loot 
ill, but then he has done that for so long. He is very thin. 


HOME AGAIN. 


201 


too, but I don’t think that has anything to do with health, 
really. Our mother was always very thin.” 

44 True, and Kingsley has always taken after her.” 

44 Yes ; I used to be so puzzled when I was a child and 
people used to say that he was a 4 Kingsley,* whilst Mon- 
tague and I were 4 Tempests.* I .never could tell what they 
meant ; but it is all plain enough now.” 

44 You two have your father’s constitution, Gerald always 
says,” remarked Mervyn, 44 but Kingsley has your mother’s.” 

As Mrs. Tempest had died of a lingering decline before 
she had reached her fortieth year, this observation was not 
of entirely a reassuring nature ; but Hilda was not to be 
daunted. 

4 4 1 know that,” she answered, 44 1 know that he will want 
great care for a long time to come ; but he shall have it. I 
sometimes feel as if I had only him to live for now.” 

A slight quiver passed over Mervyn’s face. 

“Yet there are many to love you, Hilda,” he said, very 
quietly. 

Something in the tone touched her, she hardly knew why. 
She paused and looked up at him. 

44 1 have a great many friends,” she said, gently and grate- 
fully. 44 Mervyn, you have always been my friend ; you 
you have been like a brother to me always, and you love 
Kingsley, I know, almost as we do ourselves. I could hardly 
have left him as I did, only I knew you would look after him. 
I want you to promise me something now.” 

“Yes, Hilda?” 

“ I want you to promise — I dare say it will sound foolish 
— I don’t for a moment suppose it will ever come,” — she 
spoke with an assumed lightness that barely disguised a sort 
of inward agitation, — 44 but I want you to promise to be my 


202 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


friend — my true friend always. And if by chance anything 
should happen — you should hear anything that you think I 
ought to know, and that other peope do not tell me — you 
will tell me yourself. I cannot bear being kept in the dark 
about anything. Yes, sometimes I have a silly feeling — 
you know I^have got nervous and foolish lately — that per- 
haps people do not always speak quiet frankly to me. Mervvn, 
promise me that you will never deceive me — that you will 
speak the truth always.” 

She looked at him earnestly, her eyes expressing far more 
of her true feelings than her words had done. He took her 
two hands in his and stood holding them whilst he gazed at 
her with grave intentness. 

“ I promise you, Hilda, to speak to you frankly and fully 
whenever I have any certain knowledge to communicate. 
Gerald does not talk much to me about Kingsley,. — for I 
know it is of him you are thinking, — and I shall not disturb 
your mind with any speculations or half-formed theories. You 
know, as we all do, that he wants a great deal of care, that 
his health is very much undermined. If I know for a cer- 
tainty more than that, you shall know it too.” ' 

Her lips quivered a little and her eyes grew misty. She 
could hardly tell whether his words had brought more of relief 
or of apprehension. 

“ Thank you, Mervyn,” she said, softly. 

But he did not release her hands ; he stood as he had 
done before, holding them in a firm, gentle clasp, and look- 
ing fixedly at her with a world of feeling in his usually 
sleepy eyes. 

“ Hilda,” he said, in a very low voice, — “Hilda, you have 
asked something of me ; may I too ask something of you ? 
May I say this one thing? that if any trouble falls upon 


HOME AGAIN. 


203 


jou, and you will treat me still as a i^iend, and give me 
leave to try, if ever so little, to share it and to comfort you, 
you will give me cause for deeper gratitude than you can 
ever know.” 

She looked at him and read some of his feeling in his eyes. 

She was too true a woman not to be touched bv what she saw 

" 4 * 

there. She had never realized before what the meaning of 
Mervvn’s unchangeable devotion might be ; yet, perhaps, 
she had not been altogether unconscious of it, or she would 
have been more startled now. 

She was aware of a certain thrill, a sort of glow that was 
half pleasure and half pain ; but her clear eyes did not droop 
before his gaze. 

“You have always been my very dear brother, Mervyn,” 
she said, softly. “ Will not that content you? ” 

“For the present, yes,” he answered, and loosed ^ber 
hands to walk onwards beside her. 

Meantime Montague and Kingsley were enjoying a con- 
fidential talk beneath the cedar- tree. 

“ I bear that madam has been- keeping court here in 
our absence,” observed Montague, with a half laugh, shrug- 
ging his broad shoulders with something of contempt. 
“ What kind of a crew does she collect about her, eh, 
King?” 

“ Oh, we have had all sorts, fast and slow, young and old, 
great people and little people. But they came and went so 
fast that there was no keeping count.” 

“ A mixed lot, eh? Well, I suppose that is to be ex- 
pected in these days. How did the Gener^ like it? ” 

“ Well, every one liked the Cedars so much and seemed to 
enjoy being here so thoroughly, that he was pleased too. 
There was always somebody of his stamp in the field to keep 
fiim company.” 


204 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ Ah, our respected step-mother is wise in her generation. 
Now, King, out with it ! what do you make of her?” 

“ She is always kind to me. I do not feel to know her 
very well. I do not always like her outside manner, but I 
have a sort of feeling that she is better at heart than she 
generally allows to appear.” 

Montague looked somewhat sceptical. 

“ I shall not believe in any good that you cannot detect, 
King. You have a natural aptitude for fishing it out of the 
most unpromising subjects. However, we won’t be more 
uncharitable than need bo, but employ our energies in getting 
you well, and carrying you off to Langbridge or somewhere 
else where we can keep house together with Hilda for our 
chdtelaine , unless, indeed, somebody else is successful in 
putting in a claim.” 

The brothers exchanged glances. 

“ Are you thinking of Mervyn? ” asked Kingsley. 

Montague nodded assent. 

“ He is such a good fellow,” he said ; “ and this temporary 
lack of means is quite sc passing thing. He need not be so 
rigidly economical unless he chose ; and Hilda has money, 
which, however, may not be an advantage in his e}'es. Yet 
it is plain what current his thoughts take, and I am pretty 
well convinced that the trouble about that young Churchill 
has quite passed over by this time. Hilda was just her old 
bright self again after she had got used to being away. 
Mrs. Tempest oppresses her here, but once get her into a 
new atmosphere and you would see the change. I ’d give a 
good deal to see her Mervyn’s wife.” 

“ So would I. I hope we shall see it some day. Now, tell 
me about yourself, Montague, and all you have been doing. 
I want to know all about our friends, and the yachting and 
everything. You had a very good time, did n’t you?” 


HOME AGAIN. 


205 


“Yes, first-rate. You ought to have been there, King. 
Yachting would be just the thing for you. We must see 
about it one of these days ” ; and then he launched out into 
an animated ' account of his doings during the past three 
weeks, to which Kingsley listened with great pleasure and 
interest. 

“ And yesterday we were in town with the Colquhouns, 4 — 
got there on Saturday, and stayed till to-day. Young 
Edgeler dined there on Saturday evening. * He is not half a 
bad 3’oung fellow ; I rather like him.” 

“ So do I ; and I like Venice too.” 

“I don’t object to her particularly; but she is odd, and 
your taste for oddities is greater than mine. The young 
fellow is n’t the least like mother or sister ; I suggested his 
coming down for the fifth.” 

“ Did you? I ’m glad of that.” 

“ Yes ; he seemed pleased at the idea. Do you know,” — 
laughing a little, — “I thought he paid a great deal of atten- 
tion to Clare, which attentions she seemed rather to enjoy; 
I always like to see a fellow have fair play in a game like 
that. Clare is too good to be thrown away on a fortune- 
hunter ; but I don’t suppose he knows she has a penny.” 

Kingsley was amused but not ill-pleased to see his brother 
interesting himself in the affairs of the redoubtable Mrs. 
Tempest’s son. Nothing would be more likely to produce 
an amicable feeling between them. 

Mervyn and Hilda returned shortly from their stroll 
round the garden, and almost at the same moment Mrs. 
Tempest and Venice appeared. Hilda was in a softened 
mood, she hardly knew why, and she made up her mind that 
this meeting should not lack in cordiality on her side. She 
advanced towards them smiling, and kissed them without 


206 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


the least appearance of effort. It was the first time she had 
ever exchanged salutations with her step-mother. 

Mrs. Tempest was pleased, and was gracious without 
any attempt at patronage. Montague told of his meeting 
with her son in London. 

4 4 By the by, I spoke to him about getting a couple of 
days’ leave of absence, and coming down for the fifth. I 
knew I might take so much upon myself even without con- 
sulting you, Mrs. Tempest.” 

She smiled very pleasantly. 

44 1 hope you will never feel it necessary to hesitate before 
asking an}” friend of yours to the Cedars. But what is the 
fifth in particular?” 

“The General’s birthday, you know. It is always* kept 
as a tenants* fete day. We have very grand doings, — grand 
in their eyes, at least. We begin with a cricket-match at 
half past ten, — our eleven against theirs. That lasts a good 
part of the day. They have lunch and tea in tents, and we 
have sports in the evening and end up with fireworks. It is 
a great day here always. I asked your son if he would 
play in our eleven. He said he would if he could get leave ; 
and I don’t think there will be much doubt of that.” 

The mention of the cricket-match had brought a cloud to 
Hilda’s face for a moment, but it passed as she saw how 
pleased and interested Kingsley was in the discussion. 

44 We shall have a strong eleven this year,” he said, 
44 strong in Tempests, at any rate. There will be some of 
our cousins to play ; and I dare say Mr. Tempest would do 
so himself. He is a strong man.” 

“Well, why not?” said Montague. 44 It might be as 
good a way as any of making them feel at home here, if 
that is to be done. They were rather severely in the back- 


HOME! AGAIN. 


207 


ground last year, if I remember right. I say, King, we 
must tell Joe Bennet to look out what he is about with his 
swift balls. I suppose you will hardly care to open the inn- 
ings, as usual, with me?” 

Kingsley smiled ; a little flush was on his face. 

“ I should like it above everything,” he said, “ if I could 
manage it. I would have Cecil to run for me — it would 
please the little chap, and I could give him my bat if I 
could n’t stop long. I think I might quite well manage to 
block the balls at one wicket, if you made the runs from the 
other. I declare we will try, if I ’m anything like in trim on 
the day.” 

Hilda’s face was flushed and her eyes sparkled. 

“ It would be like old times .to see you there again, 
Kingsley. How pleased all the people would be ! You were 
always the favorite. I should like to see you try, if it won’t 
be too much for you.” 

“ It will be worth making the attempt, at any rate,” an- 
swered Kingsley. “ I should like to see my name down in 
its old place on the card.” 

“ And you have three weeks still to recruit in,” added 
Montague. “We will get you into something like condition 
before the day comes. How many of these cousins of ours 
will be available, do you suppose?” 

“ Well, most of them, I should say, — Kenrick and Lan- 
celot, and Ted certainly, and Cecil to run for me, and our 
uncle if he cares about it. The General always plays him- 
self, so I don’t see why Mr. Tempest should n’t ; and then, 
with the two of us, and young Edgeler and Colquhoun and 
Mervyn, we shall be almost full. Some visitor in the house 
can be the eleventh man.” 

They were still discussing the coming fete when they 


208 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


were joined by the General, who entered with zest into the 
matter. Perhaps he was a little taken aback by the quiet 
way in which it was taken for granted that his brother and 
his brother’s family should join them, and be, as it were, of 
the home party ; but it was obviously Kingsley’s wish, and 
just now there was a peculiar pleasure in gratifying his 
wishes and in seeing him able to take an active interest in 
what went on around. Besides, the Tempests at the War- 
rens had been very Kind to their invalid when he had been 
thrown upon their hospitality, and the General was too true 
a gentleman and too affectionate a father not to value this 
service at its real worth. Moreover, he had been quite won 
over by his sister-in-law’s gentle dignity and refinement of 
mind and manner, so that he had already half forgiven his 
brother for having fallen in love with her. He was thus 
ready to let his sons have their own way in the composition 
of the General’s eleven.” 

The following afternoon, Montague, Hilda, and Venice 
rode over to the Warrens, to make the necessary arrange- 
ments, and to “ sign the peace with the offended ones,” as 
he called it. Montague had been much amused at the um- 
brage they of the Cedars had given. He had thought so 
very little about these new cousins one way or another, that 
it was entertaining to hear how much annoyance had been 
stirred up. 

“I suppose you won’t come, Kingsley?” said Hilda. 
“ You know you are the favorite there now, by all accounts.” 

“ I should cut you out too much, I ’m afraid. Montague 
will shine better alone,” he answered, smiling. Besides, 
this heat is rather too much. I ’m not a salamander, like you 
and Montague, and the chalk downs will be broiling on an 
afternoon like this.” 


HOME AGAIN. 


209 


“Yes, rather ; but we will get some tea at the Warrens 
and come back in the cool.” 

And the party started off in the hot June sunshine in 
unusually good spirits. 

The Tempests of the Warrens were all in the hay-field 
that afternoon, Mrs. Tempest told them when they reached 
the house, so, after a little talk with her in the cool shad- 
ows of the drawing-room, they all went to the great 
meadow, which was alive with busy workers and active 
idlers . 

Formality under such circumstances was quite out of the 
question ; nor were these cousins at any time given to over- 
much ceremony. Seats were found for the guests upon the 
soft, fragrant hay, and the Monkey enlivened the company 
with a series of most extraordinary antics before he laid 
himself down. 

“ You will be the fellow for a sack race or a greased 
pole,” remarked Montague. “ You must certainly compete 
in all the tomfoolery part of the business” And then he 
proceeded to talk of the approaching fifth, and to ask his 
cousins for their support and assistance. 

“We hope you will all come over a day or two before,” 
said Hilda, “ and remain over the day itself. We shall 
have a full house, for father likes it ; and it would please 
us for you all to be there. We have a little tea in the even- 
ing, whilst the tenants’ supper is going on, and then there are 
the fireworks and a social time afterwards. There is always 
a great deal to think of and arrange, and the more helpers 
we have the better. Kingsley will not be able to do much 
this year, and he has always been so very active before ; 
but he is to open our innings with Montague, as usual, and 
he wants you, Cecil, to run for him, and to take his bat if 
14 


210 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 




he has to retire ; that privilege will be given him without 
any doubt.” 

Cecil looked as proud and delighted as he felt. 

“Of course I’ll do that,” he cried, eagerly. “It was 
jolly of Kingsley to think of it. I’ll make a run or two 
for him if I can. I’ll practise for it. The Monkey shall 
bowl for me every day for an hour.” 

“ Oh, how nice ! ” remarked the person in question. “ I 
have at last something to live for ! ” 

The hay-field was too hot a place to stay in long. Ursula 
was already leading the way back to the house with Hilda, 
the others began to follow leisurely, Venice with Kenrick, 
Phyllis with Montague, who was trying to make up to this 
pretty little gray-eved cousin for the supposed slights of the 
past. 

Hilda liked the grave composure of her companion’s man- 
ner ; she had heard a good deal from Kingsely in Ursula’s 
favor, and, although she could not entirely get over the old 
wish that her cousin would dress herself a little more neatly, 
and wear clothes that fitted her, she was ready to overlook 
these surface deficiencies in consideration of the sterling 
worth she believed to lie beneath. 

“ I wanted to thank you for your kindness to Kingsley,” 
she said, as they crossed the sunny meadow together. “ He 
tells me you were very good in sitting with him and amusing 
him. It was very kind of you, especially after the way }’ou 
felt you had been treated.” 

Ursula’s color rose a little. 

“ How did you know that? ” 

“Oh, Kingsley told me — he tells me most things; you 
must not be vexed. I want to sa} T how sorry I am that we 
seemed so unfriendly. It was not as intentional as you 


HOME AGAIN. 


211 


thought, but it was quite natural it should seem so. We 
must make up for it now. I hope we shall all be friends for 
the future/’ 

Ursula had a great dislike for “ gush,” or for the least 
bit of insincerity in advances made to her, but in Hilda’s 
grave, quiet manner there was not a touch of either of these 
objectionable qualities, and she looked straight at her with 
her frank, candid smile. 

“I do not think it was all your fault now, though we 
were fond of saying so at the time. We were much more 
cross with you than you were with us. I know we had some 
reason on our side, but I think we made a great deal too 
much of it. Things are different now, and I think we shall 
like being friends.” 

“I hope you will,” answered Hilda, smiling; u for, you 
see, Phyllis belongs partly to us as well as to you, and we 
should none of us like her to see an} r thing of a ‘ family 
feud.’” 

Ursula blushed a little, remembering how ready they had 
been to indoctrinate Phyllis with their own views, and preju- 
dice her against her other relatives. She began to wonder if, 
after all, they were quite as high-minded as they had always 
believed themselves to be. 

“ You will like Phyllis, I am sure,” she said, more in 
answer to her own thoughts than in reply to Hilda. “She 
is not a bit like the rest of us.” 

The gravity of this speech and the thought implied by 
it made Hilda laugh. 

“ Am I not to like you too, Ursula? Are we not, after 
all, to be friends ? ” 

^ Ursula turned her serious face towards her cousin, but 
she could not help smiling too. 


212 


JOINT GUARDIANS* 


“ I did not quite mean, that,” she said. 

“ It sounded rather like it.” 

“ I suppose it did ; but I was thinking of something dif- 
ferent. I think I should like to be your friend, Hilda.” 

Hilda was quite alive to the simple sincerity of the words. 
She answered, gravely, “Then let us be friends from now, 
Ursula.” 

And so the friendship began. 



CHAPTER XV. 

^ A PLEASANT VISIT. 

Yg) T was with very different feelings from those with which 
zj they had last passed the gates of Chandos Cedars, 
that the three girls from the Warrens drove through 
them one warm midsummer afternoon. On the last occa- 
sion they had been fuming and indignant, ready to vow that 
they would never enter the place again ; now they were 
elated and happy, looking forward to a cordial welcome and 
to some really pleasant hours spent at this very delightful 
house. 

This time they were not disappointed. 

Montague received them as they drove up and took them 
straight to the garden, where a pleasant encampment had 
been made under the cedar-tree, with fruit of all kinds 
spread on a table near at hand, and all manner of comfort- 
able chairs disposed in the shade. 

Hilda and Kingsley were waiting for them and welcomed 
them cordially ; General and Mrs. Tempest came out of the 
house to say a few words and then retire again, and Venice 
joined them at tea-time, but was in one of her silent moods. 

There was, nevertheless, no lack of conversation. Beryl, 
Cecil, and Ted chattered incessantly and with infectious 
merriment. There was a good deal to arrange in reference 
to the coming fifth, and Ted could not resist the temptation 

[ 213 ] 



214 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


of attempting all the feats that were proposed, in so far as 
he was able without the proper accompaniments. 

“ You ’ll have a tub-race on the lake, won’t you? — a tub- 
race to be rowed with shovels, you know — every one to wear 
a high hat and black clothes. Oh, you must have one ! It 
is such fun ! I shall go in for it ; but I know I shall roll 
out of my tub with laughing.” 

“ I shall try for the sack-race,” answered Cecil. “ I was 
practising last night v#th my bolster-case. It really wasn’t 
so hard when one had got started, only if you try to stop you 
go down flat.” 

“Montague and Mervyn must enter for the three-legged 
race,” said Kingsley. “ Montague and I used to be first-rate 
at it — being just of a height gave us such a pull ; but Mer- 
vyn would not make a bad substitute, though he is taller, to 
be sure.” 

“He would be too lazy,” cried Beryl. “He will do 
nothing, I know, but lounge about with* his hands in his 
pockets.” 

“ I want to see a donkey-race,” observed Cecil, “where 
nobody rides his own donkey, and the last one gets the prize. 
Shall you have that ? ” 

“We might institute it,” said Montague. “ I don’t think 
we ’ve ever had it before, have we, King? There is no lack 
of donkeys in the neighborhood.” 

And then everybody laughed uproariously, and the fun 
waxed more and more warm, as it often does when young peo- 
ple are gathered together to discuss some pleasant scheme. 
Mervyn joined them at tea-time, and added his quiet sallies 
to the general hubbub of voices ; and then, tea being over, 
the party scattered, some to play tennis in the shady court 
by the belt of pine-trees, others to wander about and explore 


A PLEASANT VISIT. 


215 


the gardens and the houses, that were the pride of Chandos 
Cedars. 

Among these last were Montague and Phyllis, and her 
interest and delight in the flowers was so keen that they were 
left behind by the rest, at liberty to wander at will amongst 
orchids, exotics, and palms. 

“ The only people I ever used to stay with had hot-houses 
and green-houses something like these, only not so beautiful,” 
she explained. “ I always loved going there, and hearing 
about the flowers. What a lot you know about them ! I 
thought men always left that sort of thing to the gardeners.” 

“Or the women folk?” suggested Montague, smiling. 
“ I suppose you think it a very queer taste in a man, don’t 
you? But I always did like flowers, and our mother used to 
teach us all about their habits and growth when we were chil- 
dren. I don’t come here so very often now, but when I do 
I can’t help the old feelings coming back, and the names 
always stick in my head.” 

“ I wish they would stick in mine, too. I never can re- 
member them — dendrobium — odontoglossum — diplade- 
nium — clerodendron — tydea — I can hardly say them all, 
let alone knowing one from the other, but they are lovely, 
whatever their names are.” 

Presently, when they had been through all the houses, and 
had examined the great furnace that heated the whole range, 
Phyllis looked up at Montague with one of her peculiar, 
naive, trustful glances that were so irresistibly winning, and 
said : — 

“ I wonder if you would be dreadfully shocked if I asked 
you something ? ” 

“ I am sure I should not,” answered Montague, with a re- 
assuring smile that made bun look like Kingsley, Phyllis 
thought. 


216 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ My great-aunts would.be,” said the girl, gravely ; “ but 
then they would be so shocked at so many things I do now 
that perhaps that hardly matters so very much.” 

“Great-aunts are very valuable people,” returned Mon- 
tague, with becoming gravity, “ but their opinions, although 
eminently respectable, do not entirely regulate the views of 
modern society. What is it you want to do, Phyllis ? ” 

It was the first time that this tall, handsome cousin of 
hers had directly addressed her by her name, and she colored 
a little, and glanced up at him with a sort of shy pleasure 
that was very bewitchiug, he thought. 

“I should so much like to go and see the horses. I do 
so love them, and you have such beauties — only, perhaps, 
it would not be quite proper for me to go to the stables.” 

Montague smiled encouragingly. 

“ Hilda visits her horses every day, so I don’t think you 
need have any scruples on that score. Besides, the stable- 
yard will be almost deserted now.” 

So Phyllis found herself couducted into quite a large 
range of buildings, and saw the sleek, glossy-coated horses 
in their stalls or boxes, many of them engrossed with their 
evening meal, but for the most part turning at the sound of 
Montague’s voice, and, if loose, wheeling round to receive a 
caress or a carrot, as the case might be. 

“ What dear horses,” cried Phyllis, “ and how fond they 
are of you ! ” 

“ They ought to know me : I helped to break in most of 
them. Here is my special favorite, old Cid, whom I have 
ridden and driven for the past ten years. He is like a 
great dog: so tame and affectionate. He was the best 
hunter in the country in the days of his youth.” 

So saying, he opened the door of the box, and Phyllis 


A PLEASANT VISIT. 


217 


went in, the horse recognizing his master by low whinnies, 
and by rubbing his nose against his shoulder. 

44 Will you have a mount?” asked Montague ; and Phyl- 
lis, with a laugh of shy pleasure, placed her little foot in his 
hand, and found herself next moment high up on the back of 
the horse. 

44 He is rather slippery without a saddle,” she remarked. 
44 He won’t rear or anything, will he?” 

44 Not he. He is as quiet'hs a lamb, and is always doubly 
gentle with a lady on his back. Are you fond of riding, 
Phyllis?” 

44 Yes, I think so, very ; only I have never had what I 
call real riding.” 

4 4 How is that?” 

44 Oh, you know, my aunts were so nervous, they would 
never keep a horse for me. I went to a riding-school, be- 
cause papa wished me to learn, but a school is dreadfully 
slow after a little while. "Sometimes, at Brighton, I used to 
ride up and down the esplanade with friends, but we never 
went any pace, and it was not very amusing.” 

Montague laughed. 

44 No, it does not sound exciting. When you come to stay 
with us we must try and mend matters.” 

She glanced down at him from her high perch with a sort 
of subdued smile. 

44 Am I to come and stay with you?” she asked, de- 
murely. 

“Some day, I hope,” he answered, cordially. 44 You 
know we have a claim upon you. My father is as much your 
guardian as my uncle. Surely you will not be so partial in 
your favors as to spend all your time with one, to the depri- 
vation of the other.” 


218 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ I do not know,” answered Phyllis, with the shy, arch 
smile he found so bewitching. 44 1 thought wards always did 
as they were told.” 

44 Is that it? Oh, well! we can soon manage something 
then. I must have a talk to my father, and then we shall 
expect implicit obedience from you.” 

44 1 was always taught to be obedient,” said Phyllis, very 
gravely. 44 1 think I will get down now, please.” 

He took her hands, and she slipped to the ground. 

44 You must ride Cid some day when you come. He will 
be quite like an old friend.” 

4< Are old friends always better than new ? ” asked Phyllis ; 
and he glanced down, amused at the question, into the child- 
like face, with mischievous dimples just visible round the 
would-be grave lips, and he laughed as he caught the signifi- 
cance of the question. 

44 Certainly not always,” he answered, readily. 44 Some- 
times new friends cut everybody else out of the field.” 

44 Not with nice people, I am sure,” was the quick retort. 
“Nothing would ever make me forget old friends.” 

Montague, in his turn, looked a little mischievous. 

4 4 Is that because you are such an exceptionally nice person 
yourself, Ph}dlis ? ” 

She felt that the tables had been turned somewhat upon 
her, and laughed outright. 

44 1 suppose you caught me fairly there ; but whether I am 
nice or not, I am quite sure that old friends will always come 
first with me.” 

44 Always excepting the exception that is needful to prove 
the rule.” 

44 Perhaps so,” answered Phyllis, reflectively. 44 1 suppose 
Kingsley is the exception. He was a new friend a little 
while ago, but he seems an old one now.” 


A PLEASANT VISIT. 


219 


“ Exactly ; and so will other people all in good time. 
Come now, Phyllis, you must not be unforgiving because we 
seemed neglectful at first. You must give us the chance of 
making up for lost time.” 

She glanced up at him with a sort of grave inquiry, as if 
to see how much of jest and how much of earnest was in his 
words. 

“ It was not because of myself I used to feel angry with 
you,” she said, frankly. “ I was very happy at the Warrens, 
and did not want to be at the Cedars at all. I was angry 
because of other things — other people.” 

“ Yes, I know all about that ; and we have cried peccavi , 
so we ought to be forgiven. We have made all that up now, 
you know.” 

“ I think it was Kingsley who made it up,” said Phyllis. 
“ I don’t much think anything would have been done without 
him.” 

“ Quite true, I believe. Kingsley is a wonderful fellow 
for that sort of thing, Phyllis.” 

“That is what we all say,” answered Phyllis. “He 
somehow seems different from most people ; but I can’t 
quite tell why it is.” 

“ I think w r e must be going back now,” said Montague. 
“ They will be wondering what has become of us, and 
Kingsley will be wanting to talk to you before you go 
home.” 

Kingsley and Ursula and Cecil were still under the cedar- 
tree talking together earnestly. Venice and Kenrick were 
playing at tennis, with Hilda and Mervyn for their oppo- 
nents. Ted and Beryl were reported to be getting water- 
lilies on the lake. 

The General and Mrs. Tempest strolled up and down 


220 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


upon the terrace. He looked calmly gratified at the sight of 
the young life about him, but her face was a little stern, and 
would have been discomposed but for her strong self-com- 
mand. 

When the guests had departed she kept her eye steadily 
upon her daughter, and seeing Venice wander away by 
herself towards a favorite walk in a broad lime avenue, she 
followed her thither, and met her face to face when she 
turned round at the end. The girl did not appear in the 
least disturbed. 

“ Were you wanting me, mamma?” she asked, quietly. 

“ Yes, Venice. I wish to speak to you. Come with me 
into the pavilion. We shall not be interrupted there.” 

Venice glanced into her mother’s face, and her own in- 
sensibly hardened ; she followed her, however, without a 
word, into the commodious pavilion, that commanded the 
whole of the wide avenue. Mrs. Tempest seated herself, 
but the girl preferred to stand. 

“Venice,” began her mother, speaking with a cool, quiet 
determination, “ I wish to give you a warning which possibly 
may be altogether needless, possibly may be merely pre- 
mature, but, as a mother, it is my duty to warn you. You 
must not encourage the attentions of that young man.” 

Venice appeared to stifle a yawn. 

“Please be a little more definite, mamma. You are as 
vague as the Delphic oracle. What young man? ” 

Mrs. Tempest looked keenly at her daughter. 

“ Are you affecting to misunderstand me, Venice?” 

“I am only asking a plain question. Young men are 
rather plentiful here just now. I think Cecil pays me the 
most attentions ; but I had not looked upon them as likely to 
be compromising. I will try to be more cautious in future.” 


A PLEASANT VISIT. 


221 ' 


Mrs. Tempest had not known her daughter all these 
years not to be aware that this sneering tone was hoisted 
as a sort of signal of danger, warning her of perils ahead. 
She had never yet quite made out how much power she had 
over Venice, but she plainly saw that she must act here with 
caution and moderation. 

44 I have no objection to Cecil’s attentions,” she answered, 
with a smile that was more hard than the look it was meant 
to soften, 44 it is his brother of whom I am thinking. It is 
very patent to me that Mr. Kenrick Tempest admires you 
greatly.” 

44 Very kind of him, I am sure.” 

“And it is your duty to show him firmly and courteously 
that his admiration is distasteful to you.” 

Venice made no reply. 

44 He may be a well-meaning young man, but he wants 
putting in his place. I think you understand me without 
more words, Venice? ” 

44 Oh, certainly, mamma,” she answered ; 44 you could not 
have been more explicit.” 

44 Then will you be explicit in your turn, and give me the 
promise I want?” 

44 A promise to snub a young man who honors me by 
speaking to me, and even thinking of me as a rational being 
not altogether eaten up by vanity and love of self and of 
selfish ease? No, certainly not ! ” 

Mrs. Tempest’s face darkened curiously. 

44 Do you know what you are saying, Venice?” 

44 1 am not delirious that I know of.” 

44 Have you the hardihood to look me in the face and tell 
me that you are wasting your affections upon a penniless 
young doctor with nothing better in view than a poverty- 


222 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


stricken East End practice? Answer me at once, Venice] 
I am your mother, and have a right to know. Has he ever 
dared to speak to you of love ? ” 

“ I don’t know about the daring. I should not imagine 
it required much courage for the eldest son of Mr. Tempest 
of the Warrens, a man with a good name, great talents, and 
a moderate independence in view, to pay his addresses to a 
penniless girl like Venice Edgeler. At the same time, he 
has not shown any disposition to do so. We have met a few 
times, and we have conversed on ordinary topics when we 
have met. So far, at any rate, the perils you so dread have 
not even been approached.” 

Mrs. Tempest was a little reassured, more by her daughter’s 
absolute indifference of manner than by her actual words. 

“Well, take care that matters go no further, Venice,” 
she said. “ You are fitted for a higher sphere than that of 
a struggling doctor’s wife. There is Mr. Mervyn St. John 
in and out of the house perpetually. In a few years’ time 
he will be able to take up his position in somewhat brilliant 
fashion. If ever a girl had a good chance of securing 
wealth, home, and position, by a little diplomatic manage- 
ment, you are that girl.” 

Mrs. Tempest in past days had spoken quite as freely as 
this to Venice on the subject of matrimonial alliances, and 
had been listened to with patience and comprehension ; but 
had she been able to see the expression upon her daughter’s 
averted face at that moment, she would have known at once 
that her power over her was at an end. 

“ Mr. Mervyn St. John is quite capable of selecting a 
wife for himself without any assistance from me,” she said. 

Mrs.' Tempest was a little baffled, and she gave way to 
more irritation of manner than was usual with her. 


A PLEASANT VISIT. 


223 

u You talk like a foolish, spoiled child, Venice. Do you 
mean to set up for a moralist at your time of life, and to tell 
me that nothing but a romantic love-match will do for you ? 
that wealth, property, and an old home are nothing? that 
conjugal felicity is all in all? Nonsense, child! I know 
better. Do not talk to me ! ” 

“I have not the least wish to do so,” answered Venice, 
quietly, yet with rather a dangerous sparkle in her eyes. 
“But perhaps you had better understand once and for all 
that there are some points upon which you and I can never 
think alike ; that I have learned to feel differently upon 
some questions, recently. Wealth, importance, ease, and 
luxmy are all very well in their way, — I do not in any way 
undervalue them, — but they are not to me, and never will be, 
of paramount importance. I have learned to know that 
they are not essential to happiness ; that there are higher 
and nobler aims in life than just to be rich. Some lessons 
are taught without any words, and if you have not learned 
any since you came here, at least I hope that I have. I 
have watched all my life your way of seeking happiness, 
and what the attainment of it is like. I have seen other 
methods too — not so easy, perhaps, to understand in opera- 
tion, but vastly different in result. I have watched, and I 
have drawn my own conclusions. How far I may be able to 
act up to them is another matter. Mother,” with a curious 
ring of feeling in her voice, as new as it was strange, “ you 
have lived your own life in full conformity with your tenets. 
Have you found it so happy or beautiful a thing that you are 
anxious to see it reproduced in your daughter ? ” 

Mrs. Tempest was utterly taken aback by this entirely 
unexpected attack. She felt that Venice was in earnest; 
that she had many more thoughts in her mind than she had 


224 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


attempted to put into words. She felt that if this sort of 
thing went on, her influence would indeed be lost. She was 
annoyed and uneasy, and her answer was spoken very 
coldly. 

“You forget yourself strangely, Venice. You had better 
go away and come to a proper frame of mind. Such lan- 
guage is most disrespectful and uncalled for. You do not 
know what you are talking about.” 

Venice went away without a word, and Mrs. Tempest was 
left to digest what she had heard as best she might. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

THE GENERALS FETE. 

Tg T was a great satisfaction to all the tenantry of the 
Chandos Cedars estate to learn that the General’s 
vl birthday was to be kept up in the good old style. 
There had been a little fear lest the presence of a new mis- 
tress should change old traditions and explode time-honored 
customs, so that the issue of a programme of festivities even 
more attractive than usual was a source of unmixed gratifi- 
cation to all. 

The Tempests themselves always enjoyed this anniver- 
sary, and this particular year their pleasure was perhaps 
somewhat enhanced by the family reunion of which it was 
made the occasion. 

Mr. and Mrs. Tempest, with their tribe of sons and 
daughters, together with Phyllis, arrived upon the previous 
afternoon, and Alec Edgeler ran down by the evening train, 
getting in just in time for dinner. So many Tempests had 
not sat down at the same board no one could say when, and 
the gay flow of spirits amongst the younger part of the 
community had its effect upon the elders, and a general feel- 
ing of warmth and good-will was the result,, that went very 
far towards annihilating any constraint or misunderstanding. 

Ted and Alec ■ were the wags of the party, but Cecil’s 
dry speeches often set the table in a roar, and Mrs. Tem- 
15 [ 225 ] 



226 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


pest, looking half apologetically at her host, at length said 
something in excuse for the high spirits of her great boys. 
The General’s answer showed that he enjoyed the fun as 
much as any one. He was by nature hospitality itself, and 
it was one of his greatest pleasures to entertain a company 
of well-pleased and congenial guests ; the more of enjoy- 
ment he saw around him the better he was pleased. There 
had not been so merry and unconstrained a dinner at his 
table for many a long day, as he knew well. 

Montague, who sat by Phyllis, confided as much to her, 
and hoped it was the beginning of a new and happier 
regime. Phyllis was not quite certain if she understood, but 
was quite certain that nobody could be grave or dull in a 
company that included all her cousins from the Warrens. 
She was very much pleased, now that peace had been made 
with her other guardian’s family, that a general amnesty had 
been arrived at, and she began to see that the indignant 
scorn levelled at the General’s sons and daughter had been 
altogether exaggerated. It filled her with a sort of shy 
pleasure to feel that she was regarded somehow as being the 
link that had bound together the two households at last, and 
as such she was plainly considered by all concerned, though, 
in her own mind, she thought Kingsley had had quite as much 
to do with it as herself ; indeed, a good deal more. 

The evening passed very pleasantly and easily. It was 
so hot and still that they went out upon the terrace after 
dinner, and Montague and Kenrick took Phyllis and Venice 
out on the lake, where Ted was paddling about in his tub, to 
the great delight of Alec Edgeler, who longed to follow his 
example. 

Hilda and Ursula walked arm in arm up and down the 
terrace, improving the acquaintance they had made pre- 


THE GENERAL’S FETE. 


227 


viously, whilst Kingsley sat with Mrs. Tempest just within 
the long French windows, and watched everything with 
quiet comprehension and satisfaction. 

This was the anniversary of the last day he had known 
what it was to feel strong and well, to move without diffi- 
culty and pain. The year just closing had been full of suf- 
fering for him, and the future was all dim and uncertain 
before him ; yet it was of none of these things nor of him- 
self that he was thinking as he sat still with a quiet smile 
upon his face. His thoughts were all for others now, and 
to-night they were full of contented pleasure. 

Kingsley was, nevertheless, wJl aware of his own fail- 
ing powers, but he was anxious, as far as possible, to con- 
ceal his increase of weakness from those who loved him, and 
were willing, for a time at least, to blind their eyes and see 
improvement, when there was only very steady, yet very 
gradual, retrogression. 

He had set his heart on appearing amongst the people on 
his father’s birthday, meeting them all once more for perhaps 
the last time, and taking a part, if only a quiet one, in the 
active life from which he had been so long excluded. He 
had, as he phrased it, “ nursed himself up for it ” carefully, 
and he rose next morning with the feeling that he should have 
strength to play the part he had mapped out for himself. 

There was quite a little sensation when he appeared in 
the middle of the late breakfast in his white cricketing flan- 
nels, and walked quite boldly up to his father to give him 
his congratulations, and compliment him on the splendor of 
his day. 

Hilda looked at him with one of her particularly speaking 
smiles, unbidden tears standing in her eyes, whilst her heart 
throbbed with a strange mixture of joy and pain. 


228 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


It seemed like haying him well again, seeing him going 
about so quietly and natural^ ; and yet when she compared 
his appearance to-day — his thin, white face with its haunt- 
ing depth and sweetness, his wasted frame and slow, feeble 
movements — with the glow of health and spirits and the 
strong activity of a year ago, a stab of pain shot through 
her heart, and it was with difficulty that she restrained any 
outward expression of emotion. 

But Kingsley was just his old, bright self again. He was 
the life and soul of the party in his quiet, humorous way. 
He related anecdotes and droll incidents of past fete days. 
He amused them with childish reminiscences of his mingled 
terror and delight at the sports, and his conviction that the 
blacksmith, who won all the feats of strength, was a kind of 
second Samson, and would pull the church down upon them 
some day. 

“ He used to let his hair grow quite long sometimes, 
when he was too busy to regard appearances, and I used to 
look at him with terror. He always sat by a pillar, and if 
ever I saw him take hold of it I used to close my eyes, and 
believed my last moment had come.” 

Everybody was busy this morning, so breakfast was 
quickly hurried over. By ten o’clock the villagers and ten- 
ants were seen approaching the park gates in small knots, 
and before very long they had gained courage in numbers, 
and were making their way boldly to the cricket-field, to take 
up their positions upon the rows of benches that had been 
provided for them in all shady situations. 

At half past ten the party from the Cedars , appeared 
upon the scene, and enthusiastic cheering greeted their ap- 
proach. The General and his wife walked round the enclo- 
sure, speaking friendly words to all assembled, whilst the 








































THE GENERAL’S FETE. 


229 


others took their seats in the place of honor assigned to the 
“ Cedar folks,” and Montague and his eleven chatted with 
their opponents in the tent, and tossed for choice of innings. 

Montague won the toss, and elected to go in first, anx- 
ious for his brother to get his part played before the heat of 
the day came on or the necessity for exertion had tired him 
out. 

When the two brothers stepped out of the tent and 
walked to the wickets with their bats over their shoulders, 
and Cecil, proud of his position, in close attendance, there 
was a moment’s breathless pause until everybody was satis- 
fied that “it really was Mr. Kingsley himself”; and then 
such an ovation was given as caused Hilda to quiver from 
head to foot, and bite her lips to keep back the tears, and 
made Montague say to his brother, with a half -laugh that 
was meant to conceal a deeper feeling beneath : — 

“ No mistaking the welcome you get, old fellow ! This 
is like old times again. Some days are worth waiting for, 
and make amends for much.” 

Kingsley looked at his brother with a great love in his 
eyes. He did not speak ; he was more moved than he had 
expected to be, by the old, familiar scene, and the strange 
feeling that he was very possibly looking upon it for the last 
time. He was touched by the good-will expressed towards 
him by the simple village people amongst whom he had 
grown up ; he was almost confused by all the thoughts and 
impressions that crowded upon him, and he had to hold him- 
self well in hand to go through his appointed part. 

IJ was almost touching to see how anxious the bowler 
was to send easy balls to him, so that even he with his small 
strength could score off them. It seemed to be the object of 
the opposition to let him make as many instead of as few 


230 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


runs as possible, and each hit he made was hailed with a 
perfect storm of applause. It was treating him rather like a 
child, perhaps, but it was done in the childlike good-will of 
the simple people, and gave them a vast amount of gratifi- 
cation. 

Kingsley had secured ten runs himself before he yielded 
his bat to his little backer, and returned to the tent amid 
renewed plaudits. He looked and felt exceedingly tired, 
but he smiled reassuringly at Hilda, and said he had enjoyed 
it all very much, and would not have missed it for anything. 
He was provided with a luxurious chair in the coolest place 
that could be found, and from that vantage post watched 
the game with interest. 

Hilda was keeping score, with some assistance from the 
by-standers, so her time and attention were pretty well en- 
grossed ; but Ursula came and sat beside Kingsley, and 
looked after his comfort. She was not an enthusiast about 
any game, but she was amused by his interest in it. 

Cecil was soon disposed of, but he walked proudly back 
with Kingsley’s bat, having added four to his hero’s score. 
Mervyn joined Montague, and some very pretty cricket en- 
sued, and Kenrick, Colquhoun, and Lancelot followed in due 
course. Ted’s play was the liveliest part of the game. He 
stole runs, flurried the bowlers, provoked overthrows, and 
made very merry at the wickets for a quarter of an hour, 
when he was run out, as he richly deserved to be, for he had 
forced the same fate on Montague by his rashness a little 
time before. 

Montague, who had been at the wicket more than an 
hour, and had made over thirty runs, was glad enough to 
retire into the shade and be a spectator. He came and 
stood beside his brother, and asked : — 


THE GENERAL'S FETE. 


231 


44 It has not been too much for you, eh, King? ” 

44 Not at all ; I enjoyed it thoroughly/’ 

44 It pleased the people more than anything else could 
have done. The day would not have seemed quite right to 
them without it. How many years is it since we have opened 
our innings together? Ten or twelve, surely. May it be 
ten or twelve more that we do the same thing ! and mind, by 
next year, that you are independent of a substitute.” 

44 My substitute did his work uncommonly well,” an- 
swered Kingsley, with a smile at Cecil. 11 Now, Montague, 
you must initiate Phyllis into the mysteries of the game. 
She has never seen cricket before, and Ted has been stuffing 
her with all sorts of nonsense. You must put her right, and 
tell her what is what. I have been too lazy to do my duty.” 

Montague was quite ready to undertake this task, and 
Phyllis equally willing to be handed over to him. He 
walked about with her, and showed her the position of the 
field, and told her the name of each man’s place upon it, 
and what was expected of him ; he explained the mysterious 
terms she had heard without understanding — byes, wides, 
overs, and maidens — and made her feel very wise, even if 
a little confused, upon the subject. 

He had to leave her when the other side went in as he 
was wanted in the field, but she watched him with great 
interest, and took a personal pride in his fielding, which was 
particularly accurate and graceful. He made several catches, 
and took two wickets when put on to bowl. 

The game was over by two o’clock, and the tenants and 
villagers all adjourned to the great tents to partake of the 
good cheer provided for them there, whilst the party from 
the Cedars returned thither for lunch, and went down to the 
tents, when they had finished their own repast, to hear the 


232 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


General’s toast, and to exchange words of greeting with the 
old people and tenantry. 

Mrs. Tempest greatly enjoyed this part of the proceed- 
ings. She was graciousness itself to all. She had encour- 
aged her husband to have everything conducted upon the 
most generous and lavish scale, and she felt herself most 
truly the chdtelaine and lady of the manor as she walked 
through the long rows of smiling retainers, and heard her- 
self greeted and thanked at every turn. 

Montague would most likely have marked and resented 
this queening of it on the part of his step-mother, had it not 
been for the way in which his attention was engrossed by 
his bright little companion. Phyllis was full of eager inter- 
est in everything. She was pleased to be taken care of by 
her tall, handsome cousin, whom she greatly admired. She 
noted how popular he seemed with all the people, how pleas- 
antly he talked to them, how easily he responded to their 
bashful advances, provoking smiles and laughter by his 
replies and remarks. 

He introduced her to some of the old people who had 
known her father years ago, and she had to make little 
speeches and to hear compliments passed upon her “ bonnie 
face” and “ pretty eyes.” Montague helped her over any 
little embarrassments, and as they passed on together many 
admiring glances followed them, heads were shaken know- 
ingly, and remarks made to the effect that “they made "a 
pretty pair, and no mistake.” 

Montague heard one or two such comments, and smiled 
to himself as he glanced down at the eager face of his un- 
conscious little companion. Phyllis was very charming and 
winning, he thought, but so far he regarded her rather as a 
pretty, engaging child than in any other light. 


THE GENERAL^ FETE. 


233 


The afternoon hours were passed somewhat leisurely, the 
people walking soberly round the gardens admiring the 
flowers, or clustering together in groups under the trees in 
the park. 

Kingsley, who had not been able to get down to the tents, 
managed to put in an appearance in the gardens, to the 
great delight of every one. He was almost mobbed by the 
eager village folk, to whom he had so long been a stranger, 
and who had always found in him a stanch and firm friend. 
He had been a favorite everywhere, ever since he first came 
toddling down to the cottages holding his mother’s hand, or 
riding down upon his diminutive Shetland pony. He had 
been on more easy terms with the rustics than any one in the 
family, and had been the recipient of innumerable confi- 
dences, as well as the healer of breaches, and the redresser 
of the little grievances and troubles that from time to time 
were sure to arise. 

Hilda was touched by their affection for her brother, and, 
anxious as she was that he should not tire himself, she 
could not deny him the pleasure of going amongst them 
again, and she enjoyed as much as he did the feeling that he 
was entering once more into the active life that had been 
closed to him for so long. 

For Kingsley it was a particularly bright and happy day, 
despite the inevitable fatigue by which his exertions were 
attended. He enjoyed intensely the enjoyment of all about 
him, the atmosphere of bright happiness that seemed to float 
over them all. He could not witness the sports in person, 
as the distance to be traversed was beyond his powers, but 
Cecil’s descriptions, as he came running backwards and for- 
wards, were quite as good, he declared, as the sights could 
be themselves ; and the appearance of Ted, dripping from 


234 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


his self-imposed bath, evoked as merry a peal of laughter 
from him as from any of the spectators. 

Mrs. Tempest came and sat with him presently, and he 
felt, without a single word having passed between them, that 
she read his heart as nobody else did, even those who knew 
and loved him best. The growing conviction that he might 
soon be called upon to leave them all haunted him unceas- 
ingly, and the loving care he received himself from every one 
about him thrilled him with a gratitude such as only unselfish 
and unassuming natures like his could know. 

He enjoyed each hour of that day as it passed, and he 
shared in the general merriment as if no cloud hung over 
him. He took his seat at the dinner-table, and his was one 
of the brightest faces there. He watched the fireworks with 
as much pleasure as any one, went out upon the terrace with 
the rest to hear and acknowledge the final round of cheering 
that ended the villagers" fete, and when they adjourned to 
the picture-gallery for the hour’s chat that generally con- 
cluded the day, his agility surprised them all. 

To those who thought that this was the beginning of bet- 
ter days to come there was gladness and congratulation in 
seeing this commencement ; but the few who suspected that 
no improvement was likely to last watched him with a 
certain sadness, — the sadness that always hangs over every 
action, however trifling, when it is performed for the last 
time. 

.He made his way slowly to the upper end of the room, and 
then let himself be persuaded to assume a semi-recumbent 
position upon one of the sofas. 

“ For you know,” said Mrs. Tempest, gently, “ that you 
are quite tired, and we do not want you to pay too dearly for 
to-day’s enjoyment.” 


THE GENERAL’S FETE. 


235 


“ No ; I shall not do that,” he answered, eagerly. “ You 
cannot think what a pleasure it has been. You do not know 
how many associations there are with this particular day. 
Ever since we have been tiny children it has been the great 
day of the year for us. It was my great wish to join in it 
again as usual. Now, whatever happens, nobody can feel - 
that the accident last year changed everything.” 

He spoke unguardedly for the moment, more frankly than 
he had meant to ; but Mrs. Tempest understood, and a glance 
of instinctive mutual comprehension flashed between them, 
that said a great deal more than any words could do. 

The General came up presently and sat down between his 
sister-in-law and -Kingsley. By and by Montague came up 
with Phyllis, who was flushed and radiant with enjoyment. 

“Uncle Reginald,” she asked, brightly, “ do you always 
have such delightful birthdays ? ” 

“ Yes, always,” answered Kingsley for his father. “ It 
is a part of the creed of the Cedars. Have you enjoyed it so 
very much?” 

“ Oh, very much ! I think it has all been delightful. I never 
was at anything the least like it before ; and you have had 
such a splendid day, too, Uncle Reginald. Montague says 
you nearly always do have fine weather. It is so nice to see 
so many people enjoying themselves ^all together.” 

Whilst the General, taking Phyllis’s hand between his 
own, answered her in genial, fatherly fashion, Kingsley 
looked up at his brother, and said, in a low voice : — 

“Yes, we have had a capital day. I don’t know when 
I’ve enjoyed the fifth more. Mind the old traditions are 
always kept up, Montague. There must be no change. It 
must always be a fete day for the people, as it always has 
been.” 


236 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ To be sure,” answered Montague, readily, adding, 
after a moment’s silence, “ what made you say that, King? ” 

“ I don’t know. It came into my head. I am a great 
man for liking old traditions kept up — a thorough-going 
Tory, through and through, you know.” 

Montague laughed, as he led Phyllis back to the piano. 

“I’m with you there, old fellow!” he said, over his 
shoulder. 

“ That is a very sweet little girl, that ward of mine,” said 
the General to his second son. “There is not a better 
matched pair, to my thinking, in the room, than those two.” 

“I quite agree with you, sir,” said Kingsley, smiling. 
He knew what his father meant. Some such thought had 
crossed his own mind. 


'■I 



CHAPTER XVn. 


A FAMILY PARTY. 



^HE party from the Warrens did not return home 
immediately after the fete , as they had originally 
intended, Mrs. Tempest having said that they 


were far too large a party to remain more than a couple of 
nights at the Cedars ; but this idea was altogether scouted 
by the General, who had greatly enjoyed having a house- 
ful of congenial guests about him, and was by no means 
prepared to let them escape so easily. 

“Phyllis, my dear,” he had said, upon the following day, 
when he heard some mention made of departure, “ you must 
use your influence with your other guardian and get him to 
stay awhile longer. There is a good deal of business that he 
and I Qught to discuss together regarding your affairs and 
other matters. You must be my ally, and tell him and your 
aunt that we cannot spare you to the Warrens. You have 
none of you done your duty by the Cedai s yet.” 

Phyllis, who had lost her fear of the General by this 
time, and who had greatly enjoyed her two days at the 
Cedars, was only too pleased to act as his ally in persuading 
her other uncle to prolong his visit, and both brothers felt 
the constraint that could not but exist between tyiem sensi- 
bly lessened when their ward stood between them, looking 
from one to the other with bright, trusting glances, and tak- 


[ 237 ] 



238 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


ing it for granted that her request, backed by the General’s 
wishes, would prevail against any prearranged plans -for 
departure. 

And prevail it did, for Mr. Tempest was not ungenerous, 
and, although he had cherished some resentment against his 
brother for the way in which his wife had been ignored, yet 
he knew that his own conduct in his early life had been far 
from blameless or conciliatory, and he was willing enough to 
let Phyllis make the peace now. 

There was unfeigned satisfaction in the minds of the 
boys when this decision was announced. They thought the 
Cedars a capital place, and Montague a very good kind of 
fellow to do the honors. Alec Edgeler had been obliged to 
go back to town by the first train that morning, and Kings- 
ley was used up by his exertions the previous day and con- 
demned to his own room and Hilda’s care ; but there was 
Mervyn, almost as much at home at the Cedars as its own 
inhabitants, and a favorite with everybody, and no lack of 
amusement or congenial companionship for any one. The 
girls liked Venice, and felt almost more at home with her 
than with Hilda, and she expressed herself as much pleased 
at the extension of their visit. 

Mrs. Tempest was perhaps the only person who silently 
objected to this sudden growth of intimacy between the two 
households. She found nothing congenial in the society of 
Mrs. Tempest, and she had a suspicion that there was some- 
thing decidedly dangerous in the curious mixture of repulsion 
and attraction that undoubtedly existed between Kenrick 
Tempest and her daughter Venice. She was by no means 
certain that the girl even went so ■ far as to like the young 
doctor, nor could she honestly say that he paid her any 
marked attention ; nevertheless, they were often together in 


A FAMILY PARTY. 


239 


earnest conversation, and Venice would appear more ani- 
mated and interested than she generally did, although her 
animation often appeared that of displeasure or of scorn. 
Notwithstanding this, Mrs. Tempest could not but feel 
uneasy, being more and more conscious that the influence 
she once exercised over her daughter was rapidly becoming 
a thing of the past. 

A brief half-year back and she had felt she had the girl 
well in hand. How was it then that her power had so 
quickly disappeared ? Some influence had been at work 
upon Venice’s mind and nature, and Mrs. Tempest was 
much disposed to attribute it to Kingsley. She had felt no 
objection at first to the friendliness that had seemed to 
spring up between those two. She knew that her husband’s 
children were amply provided for under their mother’s will, 
and it occurred to her that Venice might do worse than take 
one of the sons. When, however, it became evident that 
only a sort of brotherly liking existed in Kingsle} T ’s mind, 
and that the state of his health was altogether unsatisfac- 
tory, Mrs. Tempest felt less well disposed toward him, the 
more so, that she believed something of the new seriousness 
of purpose and distaste for an idle, pleasure-seeking life 
visible now in Venice had received an impetus from Kings- 
ley’s example. The mother had her own views with regard 
to her child, and she was jealous of anything like opposition, 
however slight. 

Kenrick, knowing nothing of all this (he would have 
been very scornful had he suspected all the anxiety he was 
causing) , was busy on his own account in arranging with the 
practitioner of the place, the well-meaning, overtasked Mr. 
Fisher, for a temporary transfer of the practice, whilst he 
took the long rest of which he stood in no small need. 


240 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Kenrick liked the idea of a six months’ charge. It would 
give him insight and experience, and he could well afford to 
give his time with that result in view. It was pleasant, too, 
to think of being located for a good while near to his own 
people ; and, although the rooms he proposed taking were 
four miles from the Warrens, they were not ten minutes’ 
walk from the gates of Chandos Cedars, and he found it 
by no means an insignificant item in his satisfaction to feel 
how near he should be to these relatives of his. He liked 
Kingsley, he said to himself, and meant to see if he could 
not do something for his greater relief when he had the case 
in his hands. Beyond the question of professional interest 
he did not allow his thoughts to stray. 

Ursula was glad to be at the Cedars whilst Kenrick was 
making his plans for the coming winter. She had always 
been his special friend and confidante amongst his brothers 
and sisters, and he was pleased to let her help to choose his 
rooms, to suggest contrivances for his comfort, and make 
plans for frequent meetings. 

“I shall miss you so much when you go to London, 
Ken,” she said, sometimes. “I wish you could get a prac- 
tice nearer to us.” 

Then he would smile and answer : — 

“Do you indeed, Ursula? I thought you liked fondon 
life better on the whole than country. A brother in Lon- 
don will give you chances of revisiting your native place 
that you would hardly get without. Who knows that I shall 
not want a housekeeper when I get to be a rising man with 
an establishment to keep up ? ” 

Then Ursula would smile and shake her head, as if 
such a plan as that were too good to come true ; but she 
dreamed her own dreams, nevertheless, and made many 


A FAMILY PARTY. 


241 


quiet efforts to get the better of her faults, her restlessness, 
untidiness, and contempt for external niceties. In her 
uncle’s house she began to realize, as she had not been 
willing to do before, that an instinctive polish and regard 
for appearances was not necessarily an indication of 
frivolity or vanity. She began to feel a respect for order 
and precision that she had certainly never expected to 
experience. 

She was disappointed to see so little of Kingsley and 
Hilda, the two cousins in whom she felt decidedly most 
interested, and sorry for the cause of this seclusion ; but 
she enjoyed her visit very much, notwithstanding, and 
increased her friendship with Hilda, though not quite to 
the extent anticipated. 

She learned from her that, as soon as Kingsley was 
well enough, he had set his heart on going with her and 
Montague to spend a week or two at Langbridge, which 
place was being talked of as a future home for Montague, 
and perhaps for them all, “ if the Cedars becomes intoler- 
able,” as Hilda remarked in explanation. 

The house was on the borders of the next county, only 
thirty miles away, so that they could drive the whole dis-. 
tance. It was let to friends who were away, and would be 
very glad to give them the use of it for a week or two. In 
six months’ time the lease would be up, and it w r ould not 
be renewed, as they all thought it far better that Montague 
should think about having a separate establishment of his 
own. He had made light of the idea at first, not seeming 
to think it feasible ; but most likely, when he once got to 
the place, he would begin to take an interest in it, and like 
to picture it as his future home. He was thoroughly un- 
settled at the Cedars, and often talked of taking a yacht, 


16 


242 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


in which he could carry his brother and sister round the 
world ; but this idea was attractive to nobody but himself, 
and the rest were anxious to see him comfortably estab- 
lished at Langbridge. 

The first step was to get him there, and as he always 
took up warmly any suggestion of his brother’s, Kingsley 
had only to express a wish to see the place again, for 
Montague to enter with zeal into the plan for enabling him 
to do so. Mrs. Tempest was anxious to commence a round 
of visits with her husband and Venice, and invitations were 
not wanting, so that in a short time the Cedars would be 
closed for a while, and its inmates dispersed in different 
directions. Meantime, however, all were enjoying the exer- 
cise of its pleasant hospitality, and hosts and guests were 
assimilating better day by day, and forgetting that there 
had ever been anything but complete unanimity between 
those bearing the name of Tempest. 

Phyllis had as much riding as ever she liked,, and the 
Cid and his master were equally at her disposal. Hilda 
could not often be persuaded to accompany her, preferring 
to spend her time with Kingsley, and Ursula and Beryl did 
not ride ; but Venice was always ready, having gained much 
in courage and confidence of late, and Kenrick enjoyed 
horse exercise, although little used to it. Sometimes Mervyn 
St. John and his sister would join them, generally when 
Hilda was of the party, and Phyllis found it all very delight- 
ful, and was pleased to feel herself under the special pro- 
tection of her champion, Montague. She admired and liked 
her cousin very much, and he warmly reciprocated the liking. 
Montague, though getting on easily with most people, sel- 
dom made friends with readiness, particularly with women 
or girls, who were generall}’ rather frozen up by the polished 


A FAMILY PARTY. 


243 


stateliness of his manner towards strangers. Phyllis had, 
however, never seemed quite like a stranger, — at any rate, 
he had never been stiff or stately with her, and she liked 
him exceedingly, none the less so from a slight feeling of 
shyness, and she thought him very kind to take so much 
notice of her. 

Phyllis was at an age when it was much more interesting 
to hear of other people’s affairs, and study their characters 
and pursuits, than to think or talk of herself or her own 
future, which seemed commonplace and humdrum enough. 
She had formed no plans on her own account : the present 
liberty and happiness were quite sufficient for her ; but she 
thought it most interesting to hear other people discuss their 
future projects, and she always enjoyed hearing Montague 
talk : he did it in such a frank, pleasant way, and made 
everything seem real to her. 

He told her of the Langbridge project, laughing a little 
about it all the while. 

“It’s all very fine for them to talk, and I quite agree 
that at my time of life I might be thinking of settling. 
I could settle down fast enough with Kingsley for my com- 
panion, and Hilda to keep house for us ; but then, suppose 
she goes and gets married, which she will do some daj r for 
certain, I expect: what is to become of our model estab- 
lishment? Two bachelors living alone together would make 
rather a forlorn spectacle, don’t you think?” 

“One of you might get married,” suggested Phyllis, 
gravely. 

“ Well, there ’s something in that,” answered Montague, 
the least little suspicion of a smile curving the corners of 
his lips ; “ but then, the lady might object' to the presence 
of the other, and Kingsley and 1 have always had a fancy 


244 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


for sticking together, more than ever since he gave up the 
notion of an East End clergyman’s life.” 

44 1 think nobody could object to Kingsley,” said Phyllis, 
simply, — so simply that she did not quite understand 
what made Montague laugh with such enjoynient of her 
words. 

“You evidently think I might be a very objectionable 
element in a household, Phyllis ” ; and at that she laughed 
too, blushing a little as she said : — 

“You know I did not mean that.” 

“Well, it sounded like that, at any rate, as you must 
admit.. Never mind ; don’t look so disconcerted. You 
have come uncommonly near the mark. I can be a very 
objectionable kind of individual when I like, I assure you.” 

Phyllis looked at him gravely, her eyes expressing a 
good deal of doubt. 

44 1 don’t think I quite believe you.” 

“ That is very kind of you ; but I assure you it is a 
fact.” 

“ You have always been so kind to me,” she said, frankly 
and sweetly. 44 1 suppose that is what I go by.” 

Montague looked at her, a warm feeling at his heart. 
It is pleasant to be liked, — to feel that there are some 
people who only recognize the best side of us, and decline 
to believe very much in the reverse. 

“ You would make a very good consoler, I think, Phyllis, 
if ever I stood in need of one.” He spoke gently, and 
she looked up at him, a questioning light in her eyes. 

“Is any trouble coming upon you, Montague?” she 
asked, very softly. 

He gave a little start, looked away over the sunny land- 
scape, and fell into a brief fit of musing. 


A FAMILY PARTY. 


245 


“What made you ask that, Phyllis?” he asked, without 
looking at her. 

Her color had risen, but it was with perfect truth that 
she answered : — 

“ I doi^t think I quite know.” 

He was silent for a while after that, and presently laid 
one hand very softly upon hers. 

“ Little cousin,” he said, and his face was as gentle as 
his touch, “ if I am ever in trouble, am I to come to you for 
comfort ? ” 

She looked up at him with childlike confidence and trust. 
Something in his face touched her more than she could quite 
understand. 

“ I should like to do anything I could for you if you were 
in trouble, Montague,” she answered, softly and steadily. 
“You know we have always seemed friends; you said so 
almost the first time I saw you.” 

He started from his revery, and looked down at her with 
a smile, holding out his hand as he did so. 

“Thank you, Phyllis,” he said; “then that is under- 
stood : we are to be friends always now. Perhaps a day 
may come when I may have reason to claim your promise.” 

She hardly knew whether he spoke playfully or sadly ; 
there seemed a mingling of both moods in his voice and 
manner ; but she let her hand lie unresistingly in his ; she 
felt glad that he had called her his friend. 

Two days later the party at the Cedars broke up, and 
Phyllis returned with her cousins to the Warrens. 



CHAPTER XVIII, 


HILDA, 



^HIS is almost like realizing our ideal, Kingsley ,” 


said Hilda. 


J1L! u Our ideal ?” he answered, waking out of 

a day-dream in which he had been indulging for some time. 
“ And what is that, little sister? ” 

“ Oh, you know — having a house of our own, you and I 
and Montague, and living together, as we used to plan when 
we were children.” 

She felt his hand upon her head with the caressing touch 
she knew so well. She lifted her own and drew it down, 
and pressed her lips upon it. She was happy, quietly, 
serenely happ} r , this afternoon, and j 7 et, as is so often the 
case in this curious, complex world of ours, there seemed a 
sort of tender sadness hanging over everything. 

She and her brothers were at Langbridge. Kingsley’s 
plan had been carried out later on in the month. They had 
received a cordial request from their friends to make what 
use they liked of the house, and now, on this last day of 
July, they had been there for a week, and had not yet fixed 
the date of their departure. 

The quiet and the freedom from strain of any kind were 
very welcome to them all. There were pleasant retreats in 
many cool, shady spots. The views all round were lovely ; 


[ 246 ] 




HILDA. 


247 


Hilda was never tired of sitting with Kingsley as on this 
afternoon; reading to him, talking to him, or indulging in 
that sympathetic silence that is the surest test of perfect 
understanding. 

Montague was in his best spirits, bright and almost 
boyish, as in old days before his brother’s illness and his 
father’s second marriage had cast a cloud upon his happi- 
ness. He was convinced that the worst of everything was 
past, and entered with zest into plans for the future. Lang- 
bridge was to be made into a little paradise for his brother 
and sister and himself, and they were to take up their abode 
there the following year, as soon as the present tenants had 
quitted it. He took great pleasure in planning the changes 
to be made, in calculating cost, and mapping out the scale of 
their expenditure. Kingsley entered with interest into every 
plan, encouraged him to talk, and had suggestions of his 
own to offer, as practical as they were attractive, though he 
often smiled to himself when his brother spoke of Hilda as 
being the presiding genius of the place. 

Montague began to realize, as he had never been able to 
do before, what life away from Chandos Cedars would be 
like, and he soon felt that a small propert} T of his own to 
manage would be no bad substitute for the work he had for 
many years undertaken in his old home. He studied the 
place and the farm with interest, and found plenty to occupy 
his time, although he was never tired of being with the 
others, and would have been content to remain always about 
the garden, had not his brother sent him off elsewhere dur- 
ing many hours of the long summer days. They were very 
happy together, quietly and undemonstratively happy ; and 
if a shadow lay upon some hearts, it lay there gently and 
tenderly, without any sense of threatening darkness. 


248 


JOINT GUARDIANS, 


Perhaps Hilda’s resolute certainty of Kingsley’s recovery 
of power was unconsciously becoming shaken. She had not 
admitted as much even to herself as yet ; she still said and 
believed that the bad days that had succeeded the happy 
fifth were occasioned by his having overdone himself, and 
need be no index of any real loss of strength ; yet she could 
not but see for herself that his lameness rather increased than 
lessened with each succeeding month, and, although her fears 
never suggested anything worse than a chronic stiffness of a 
joint, she had begun, though almost unconsciously, to face 
the possibility of a semi-crippled existence. 

It was, perhaps, this hidden fear that gave to her an 
added tenderness towards her brother ; a sort of yearning 
love almost reverential in its devotion ; an intense longing 
to be able to help him, to cheer him, to make up to him 
by every means in her power for the loss of strength and 
health so hard to bear at all times — most of all in the 
prime of youthful manhood. Whatever a sister’s love could 
accomplish should not be lacking to Kingsley now. Vague 
and undefined and almost unconscious as these thoughts 
were, they were rooted in the very deepest fibres of her 
nature. 

And now, holding his hand in hers, she said, gently : — 

“We could be very happy together, could we not, Kings- 
ley? ” 

“We are always happy together, I think, little sister,” 
he answered ; and, as she turned her face towards him with 
a little smile of gratitude, he added, “ I should be a nice 
sort of fellow if it were not so.” 

“You are always happy, I think, Kingsley,” said Hilda, 
with sudden gravity. “ I sometimes think you are quite 
independent of all outward things — things that others rely 


HILDA. 


249 


on so much* Sometimes I wish I had the secret of your 
happiness.” 

He held her hand tenderly in his, but did not speak. 
His silence, however, said almost as much as any words 
could have done. 

“I know what it is, Kingsley,” she said, very softly; 
“ but it is very hard to understand, very hard to be ready to 
submit. Do you never find it so yourself ? ” 

“Of what are you thinking in particular, Hilda?” he 
asked, gently. 

“I think you know — of your lameness, of the uncer- 
tainty, of the weary waiting. Kingsley, tell me truly, are 
you any better, — really? Is there any uncertainty about 
your getting over the accident? Will you get really well 
in time ? ” 

Perhaps it was something of a relief to Kingsley that 
she had herself propounded the question, showing that, in 
spite of her cheerfully expressed confidence, she had begun 
to entertain some doubts. 

“ Colquhoun does not hold out much hope,” he answered, 
quietly ; “ but do not let us trouble about that. Things 
have a way of turning out better than we anticipate, and 
we have a great capacity of adapting ourselves to circum- 
stances. Do not let us talk of me any more ; it is a sub- 
ject that is worn rather threadbare, I think. I want to talk 
to you about yourself.” 

Hilda gave him one quick glance, and then the long 
dark lashes veiled her downcast eyes. 

“ Little sister,” said Kingsley, very tenderly, “there was 
a time when you let me share almost all your deeper feel- 
ings, your hopes and fears, sorrows and joys ; am I to be 
less to you now than then?” 


250 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


She did not look at him, but carried his hand once more 
to her lips. He understood what that action meant, and 
asked another question. 

“ Have you heard anything from Mervyn since you came 
here ? ” 

“No.” 

6 4 Do you know that he is coming here to-day to spend 
Sunday with us ? ” 

Hilda’s eyes were lifted for a moment. 

“ Is he? I did not know.” 

“ Montague asked him down. We want to congratulate 
him on his good fortune.” 

“ What good fortune?” 

“Did not Montague tell you? We fancied perhaps he 
would have written to you himself. His time of probation 
has closed earlier than was expected. He can take his 
estate and live on it any time he chooses now.” 

4 4 What has happened ? ” 

“ You know how mysteriously Mr. Hubert had dissi- 
pated his fortune, nobody knew how? Well, it seems that 
he had lent large sums — very large sums — to a scapegrace 
friend to whom he was warmly attached, and who gave no 
security whatever for the debts, so that they were known to 
nobody but the parties themselves. Mr. Hubert died with- 
out giving an\ T clew to the transactions, and his friend was 
working in the Kimberley diamond mines, and knew nothing 
of the death of his benefactor till he landed in England 
a month ago, with an immense fortune at his back. His 
first business was to find Mr. Hubert’s heir, and pay over 
to him every penny that had ever been lent him, with interest 
and compound interest. Mervyn is a rich man now ; but he 
takes his good fortune very quietly. Only for one reason 


HILDA. 


251 


does he appear glad to be a free man once more. Can you 
guess that reason, Hilda? ” 

She was silent for a moment, and then said, in a low 
tone : — 

“ I think so, Kingsley.” 

44 He has spoken to you?” 

“Yes, once or twice, — just a few words; but I know 
what he means.” 

4 4 And you ? ” 

Not many brothers would dare to put so direct a question 
even to a sister ; but Kingsley was privileged. 

44 1 am very fond of Mervyn,” she answered, with a grave 
simplicity. 

44 He has always seemed like a brother,” said Kingsley. 
44 1 confess I should like to see him made one in reality. 
I think he will want an. answer soon, Hilda. Have you one 
ready for him ? He has been so patient for so many years. 
Is he to be rewarded at last ? ” 

Hilda’s hands were closely pressed together; there was 
a curious mingling of happiness and distress in her eyes. 

44 1 could never leave you, Kingsley, never so long as 
you needed care, never before you were strong and well, 
and active again, and you say — ” 

Kingsley laughed a low laugh of affectionate amusement. 

“ My dear little sister, surely you know by this time that 
I am much too selfish and exacting ever to plot against 
my own well-being and happiness. You have spoiled me 
too well for that. But, then, a brother need not be an in- 
superable obstacle against a sister’s happiness in life, espe- 
cially if she marries a man who is as willing to be imposed 
upon as she is herself.” 

Hilda smiled a little tremulous smile. Ever since M.er- 


252 * 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


vyn’s first words of love, uttered nearly two months ago, 
had plucked, as it were, the scales from her eyes, she had 
been learning to read her own heart, and to know that the 
patient, unselfish, chivalrous love which he had cherished so 
long towards her had not been without some answering feel- 
ing on her side. She had known Mervyn so long, had 
accepted him as a brother so much as a matter of course, 
that it was difficult all at once to realize him as a lover or 
a husband ; but the consciousness was slowly stealing over 
her that he was infinitely more to her than she had ever 
known before, and that the steady, tmsting confidence with 
which she loved him was very different from the fiery, 
passionate feeling she had cherished for the other who had 
proved so faithless and unworthy. 

Mervyn was to her as a part of her life ; he had been 
her champion and her slave ever since she could walk alone ; 
he knew her through and through, was acquainted with every 
detail of her past life. It was easy then to link him with 
thohghts of the future, — and then he loved Kingsley almost 
as well as she did. 

Kingsley had sunk into a thoughtful revery. When he 
spoke it was with unusual gravity. 

“ I have seen a side of Mervyn’s character that you do 
not know. He seems indolent, nonchalant, almost inert ; 
and had it not been for the manly, self-reliant, and plucky 
way in which he faced a difficult position a couple of years 
back, perhaps few people would have known what a fund 
of quiet resolution he possesses. But I saw his true nature 
before, when it was put to a keener test than any you have 
witnessed. I saw him fight the battle against temptation 
of a far more subtle kind, and come out nobly victorious in 
a battle the fierceness of which you will perhaps never be 


HILDA. 


253 


able to estimate. I had always liked Mervyn ; but ever 
since that time I have honored and respected him.” 

Hilda listened very quietly to all this. She liked to hear 
Mervyn praised by any one so sincere as Kingsley. A sort 
of restful content to which she had long been a stranger stole 
over her as she sat beside her brother. The sadness had not 
all gone, but it was gilded almost to brightness by the reflec- 
tion of the nearer happiness. Mervyn loved her, was coming 
to tell her of his love, and she knew that she loved him. But 
to surrender her heart to him did not mean any surrender of 
the almost closer tie that bound her to her brother ; he had 
admitted so much himself ; Mervyn would admit it too ; he 
was to be her first care so long as he needed her ; only if he 
grew well and strong again would she relinquish her claim 
upon him. Of that other approaching alternative she had 
not even thought. 

“ Here they come ! ” said Kingsley, a few minutes later ; 
and the next moment Montague’s merry voice rang out : — 

“ I ’ve got him safe ! Here he is, as large as life, and, need- 
less to say, as cool as a cucumber! Well, he deserved his 
luck, if anybody ever did. Make a speech, Kingsley, and 
wish him joy of his inheritance.” 

Kingsley’s greeting was congratulation in itself, and 
Hilda’s silence was as eloquent as any words. Montague 
began to feel that something was “ up,” as he mentally 
phrased it, between those two ; and after they had had tea, 
and Mervyn was being conducted round the garden by Hilda 
and himself, he managed adroitly to slip away, leaving those 
two to their own society. 

They were too well used to each other, too much in sym- 
pathy, to be embarrassed at finding themselves alone. They 
walked on for a. little while, looking at the flowers and talk- 


254 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


«r 

in g about the people and places Mervyn had just left ; bul 
when they reached a quiet shrubbery walk, where they would 
be free from any observation or interruption, he paused, 
turned round so as to face her, and took both her hands in 
his. 

4 4 Hilda, ” he said, “you know what I have come to 
say.” 

She looked at him, and then her eyes fell before his. There 
* was a power of love in his glance that touched her deeply, 
and stirred her heart to its very depths. 

44 May I say it, Hilda?” 

Her silence seemed to give consent ; and in a quiet, ten- 
der, manly way he told her of his love. 

He did not protest vehemently ; he made no eloquent 
aj^al to her compassion ; said nothing of the length of time 
he had waited for her ; his thoughts were not of himself, but 
of her ; and the grand, unconscious unselfishness of a really 
deep love betrayed itself in every tone of his voice and every 
line of his face. He spoke quietly, with the quietness of in- 
tense earnestness, and he read in her eyes the surrender of 
herself before he had finished speaking. 

A few moments of deep, untroubled happiness ensued, 
and then Hilda drew herself away from him. 

44 1 love } t ou, Mervyn,” she said, gently. “We love one 
another, and it is very sweet. It is so sweet that for the 
present I feel as if it were enough — as if nothing more were 
needed. Shall we be content with this understanding? With 
Kingsley as ill as he is now, I have a curious shrinking from 
anything like change. You know, Mervyn, I can never be 
separated from him.” 

He looked down at her with deep compassion in his 
eyes. 



Hilda. 


255 


“ You may trust me, Hilda. I will never be the means 
of separating you.” 

I know; it,” she answered, gratefully. “You love him 
too, Mervyn.” 

“I have good reason to do so,” he answered, with an 
unusual seriousness of manner, as he drew her hand within 
his arm and walked on once more. “ I owe more to Kings- 
ley than to any man upon earth. Had it not been for him, 
Hilda, I should not this day have been asking you to be my 
wife.” 

She gave him a quick, questioning glance. He was 
gazing straight before him, a very intense look in his clear, 
gray eyes. He went on speaking in the same quiet, serious 
fashion. 

“There is one period of my past life to which Lean 
never look back without a shudder — it is right tharyou 
should know of it, Hilda. As you are aware, I went up to 
Oxford four or five terms earlier than your brothers. I en- 
joyed the easy life there very much ; I had plenty of money 
and plenty of friends, and I could be indolent and self-in- 
dulgent to my heart’s content. For a time things went 
smoothly enough, and perhaps no harm was done, save that 
I grew more idle, more averse to trouble of any kind, more 
enervated by the easy luxury of the life I led with each suc- 
ceeding month. Then, very gradually — so gradually that I 
was not in the least aware of it at first — I began to be drawn 
into a thoroughly bad set to spend my time amongst men 
who feared not God, neither regarded man, who were a law 
unto themselves, and who had no end or aim in life but self- 
indulgence of every kind. What seems pleasant and harm- 
less enough at starting, when made into a regular principle 
through life drives men to destruction faster than anything 
else.” 


256 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Mervyn paused awhile, and then went on : — 

“ I was being led on by easy stages towards the vortex. 
At first, I was quite unconscious of my danger ; but there 
was a time when I awoke to it, and when, from sheer dislike 
of trouble, from weakness of will, fear of ridicule, and in- 
different carelessness, I would not even try to free myself, 
but submitted to be led along the downward path rather than 
make one effort and break my bonds. 

* “And just at this juncture Kingsley came to my aid. 
He saw in a moment whither my way was tending, and he 
set himself to save me, though I cared little about saving 
myself. I shall never forget his conduct then — how he, 
little more than a lad in years, unversed in the unwritten 
code of etiquette, of so paramount an importance in the Ox- 
ford undergraduate life — how he took up a stand at once on 
ground so unassailable that no one dared to attack him — 
how, with perfect self-control, he stood all the ridicule of 
which he was made the butt, and without in the least setting 
up for a saint or a prig, lived his life with a manly, irre- 
proachable truthfulness and purity that spoke more elo- 
quently than hundreds of sermons. Kingsley never was 
much of a talker, yet when the right moment came he could 
speak out in a way that has made my ears tingle many a time, 
and would stand unflinching to his colors when need arose, 
like the best soldier who ever bore arms. I need not lengthen 
out the story, but Kingsley saved me. He saved me from 
what the world would call, becoming a fast man, or going to 
the dogs, but which might more truly be designated as goino- 
straight to destruction. I was not very deep in the mire 
when he eame and pulled me out — fairly shamed me into 
better things. I trust I have not quite forgotten what I 
learned during those days and weeks when the struggle was 


HILDA. 


257 


going on. I trust I shall never forget the lessons he taught 
me then. It seems to me that I owe him everything ; that 
he has taught me the meaning of true courage as no one else 
in the world could do, — first, the courage that can fight, and 
then that even more wonderful courage that can endure.” 

Hilda looked up with tears in her eyes. 

“ Dear Kingsley ! ” she said, softly. 

Mervyn walked on for some time in silence. His face 
was still set and grave. 

“ Hilda,” he began, presently, “ I have told you now all 
the story of my life. After that you will not wonder that 
I love your brother as I do. My greatest wish now — next, 
perhaps, to calling you my wife — is that our lives should 
be lived as his has been — as he would wish them lived. 
You understand me, my dearest ?” 

She understood him well. She looked up with tears in 
her eyes. 

“I am so glad you have said that, Mervyn. It sets a 
sort of seal upon our love. Yes, I do understand, indeed. 
It is my own great wish, too.” 


17 



CHAPTER XIX. 
kenrick’s legacy. 

“ here’s a queer piece of luck!” ex- 

claimed Kenrick, as he perused a letter 
m&yu that the morning’s post had brought him. 

“What?” asked several voices in a breath; and from 
the fact that the usually calm and self-possessed Kenrick 
was somewhat flushed and excited, his answer was waited 
for with some interest. 

‘ * The oddest thing. Do you remember my ever telling 
you of a queer old fellow, called Hicks, who was knocked 
down by a cab on London Bridge ? ” 

Some answered “yes,” but the “noes” preponderated, 
and Kenrick gave a brief account of the circumstance. 

“It happened just as I was crossing the bridge on my 
way from the hospital. I helped the old fellow up ; he was 
very seedy-looking and out at elbows, and as soon as it 
appeared that he could walk, and had broken no bones, the 
crowd dispersed at once. I stuck to him, however, and said 
I would see him home, and make sure he was all right. He 
stared at me, but made no objection, only stating that he 
could not afford to pay for a cab when he saw me hail one. 
I got his address and took him home. He lived in a queer, 
ramshackle old house away to the east, in the very neighbor- 
hood where my future practice is to be. I found him a good 
[ 258 ] 



kenrick’s legacy. 


259 


i 

deal bruised, and I got him to bed, and as he lived quite 
alone^in the house, which later on I found to be his 
own property, I stayed with him a couple of hours, and 
promised to look in again next day. That was the begin- 
ning of the acquaintance ; but I found old Hicks quite 
worth cultivating — a man of education and scholarship, 
though in very seedy circumstances. He seemed quite 
alone in the world, without any ostensible means of sup- 
port; still he was able to live without turning his queer 
old ancestral house into a lodging establishment, as I once 
offended him by suggesting. He got into the way of liking 
to see me, and I used to drop in, generally about once a 
week, for a chat, or to borrow a book. He never talked 
much, but I knew he was pleased to see me, and was fond 
of getting me to talk of myself and my future plans. He 
was as well as ever when I said good by to him three 
months ago, but it seems that he died suddenly, a week 
back — ” 

“ And has left you a fortune ! ” cried Ted. “ Oh, what 
a lark ! How much is it? Half a million? Now we will 
cut out all the other Tempests, and swagger about like any- 
thing ! Go ahead, old boy ! Out with it ! ” 

“You must moderate your expectations, my boy,” said 
Kenrick, laughing. “It is true that he has left me all he 
possesses ; but that only means the old house, which is to be 
put in thorough repair, and money that will bring in, his 
lawyer tells me, about five hundred dollars a year. It is a 
very nice little windfall for a young doctor just starting in 
life, but nothing very colossal.” 

“A house of your own in the very neighborhood you 
meant to settle in, and money enough to pay rates and taxes 
and keep it in good repair inside and out. Well, you are a 


260 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


♦ 

lucky fellow, Kenrick,” said his father, heartily, u and I 
wish you joy of your property.” 

“Thank you, sir; yes, it certainly is a piece of good 
luck. I like the house. It is old and well built, and, 
though not very large, is quite large enough for an East End 
doctor, and no doubt was once quite a fashionable mansion. 
It stands back from the street, and is detached from any 
other building, and is surrounded b} r a solid wall of its own. 
Perhaps it makes it look rather like a prison, but it gives it 
quietness and privacy, which, in that neighborhood, are mat- 
ters of paramount importance.” 

“Will you have to go up to town to see after things?” 

“ The lawyer who writes recommends me to do so. I 
confess I should rather like to have a look at the house 
again. I have not been all over it, and as my visits were 
almost always paid after dark, I have not much idea what 
it is like. One candle was all the illumination allowed.” 

Ursula looked at her brother. 

“ Will you take me with you, Ken?” 

“ To be sure I will. It would be twice the fun to have 
somebody else to talk things over with ; and if you are a 
little too learned to know by heart all the mysteries of house- 
hold expenditure and domestic detail, at least you have a 
head on your shoulders, and plenty of good sense and good 
taste.” 

Ursula smiled a little. She knew she was Kenrick’s 
favorite sister, despite the many criticisms he bestowed upon 
her. They understood one another very well, and had done 
so from childhood, and it was a pleasure to both to plan an 
expedition that could be shared together. 

“Is the house habitable? Will you stay there or at a 
hotel? If there is no servant, it will all be in a dreadful 


KENRICK ’s legacy. 


261 


state,” said Mrs. Tempest. “ Ursula, be very careful not 
to do anything rash ; above all things, do not sleep in damp 
beds.” 

Kenrick laughed. 

“Trust me for that, mother; remember I am a doctor. 
I think I am more to be trusted to look after sanitary con- 
ditions than Ursula is.” 

“Well, be very careful, both of you. I trust you to 
one another. When do you propose to start?” 

“ To-day, I think. Can you be ready, Ursula?” 

“ Of course I can. How long do you expect to be 
away ? ” 

“Two or three nights — possibly more. London is al- 
ways rather engrossing when one gets to it, though it is quite 
the worst time for being there. Be prepared for a week,, 
anyhow.” 

Ursula’s preparations were speedily made. She went 
about with rather an absorbed look upon her face, and yet 
she could hardly have explained the reason of the sudden 
fit of musing that had fallen upon her. She felt as if this 
change in Kenrick’s future prospects, small as it was to him, 
would somehow change the current of her owu life in some 
way or other ; and } r et she could hardly have defined in what 
way such a change was likely to come about. 

She was absent and preoccupied all through the railway 
journey, but she roused up when the roar and tumult of her 
beloved native town broke upon her ears. 

She looked out of the cab windows with something of 
actual joy, and then turned smilingly to Kenrick. 

“I don’t know how it is, — I suppose it is execrable taste, 
— but I do really think that this noise and stir suit me 
better than the calm and quiet of the Warrens. The coun- 


262 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


try is very lovely. I like the quiet for study and thought, 
but one lacks the stimulating power of the rush and whirl of 
life. Silence and beauty become rather oppressive in time, 
I think ; I am sure that I want to feel tumultuous human 
life surging round me again. Do you understand, Ken? 

“Yes, very well. I have much the same feeling myself. 
A calm, contemplative country life would never suit me very 
long.” 

Ursula gave him a quick glance. 

“ I am not sure that it would suit me either. We think 
very much alike on many points, do we not?” 

He smiled his assent, and Ursula again turned to the 
window to watch the busy stream of passengers hurrying by, 
and to look out for each familiar landmark as they traversed 
the vast city. 

As they drove eastward she grew less familiar with the 
locality, and at length they reached a region totally unknown 
to her. 

“We are getting near the place now,” said Kenrick. 
“ This is the aristocratic neighborhood where the next years 
of my life will, in all probability, be spent.” 

Ursula gave him a glance of sympathetic comprehension. 
She almost wished that she too were a man, to share his 
labors and his studies, and help him in the work of healing 
that he had set himself to accomplish. 

She looked with a certain sense of ownership upon the 
careworn women and toil-hardened men Vho swarmed in the 
narrow streets through which they were passing. *She 
glanced compassionately at the pinched faces of the little 
children, and felt a curious thrill of pity, mingled with 
something that was akin to indignation, — a feeling she did 
not understand. 


kenrick’s legacy. 


2(>3 

At last the cab stopped, and Ursula saw that they had 
reached a grim, smoke-blackened house behind high walls. 

“ Here we are,” said Kenrick. “Iam not certain if we 
-can get in ; if not, we must drive on to the lawyer’s office 
straight; but we will have a try first at effecting an en- 
trance.” 

He rang a rusty bell at the outer gate, and after some 
delay the door was suspiciously opened by a servant. She 
knew Kenrick’s name, however, and made no difficulty about 
letting him in, bag and baggage. Indeed, she seemed rather 
pleased to see the portmanteaus, for she said it was “lone- 
some in the old place all alone.” 

Ursula looked curiously about her as she crossed the 
green, lichen-covered flags of the yard. The high wall en- 
closed a considerable space of ground, and seemed to deaden 
the sounds of traffic from without. The house was ap- 
proached by a flight of broken stone steps, and the front 
door was rather handsome, carved round the panels, and 
with some brass-work about it, now black with mildew and 
rust. They skirted round the house and entered by the back 
door, and Ursula saw that there was a larger yard behind, 
and a building that might once have been a stable. Another 
door in the wall gave access to the street behind. 

The house itself was undoubtedly very old, and, though 
now most dismal from the accumulated dust and dirt of 
years, was not without redeeming features. The rooms 
were well proportioned, lofty, and of good size. The man- 
tel-pieces were handsome, and the doors solid and well fit- 
ting. The staircase was really beautiful, and there was a 
sort of quaintness and air of antiquity about the whole 
place that redeemed it at once from anything approaching 
sordidness or squalor. 


2G4 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


When the brother and sister had been over all the rooms 
together, and had taken note of most that was to be seen, 
Kenrick started off for the lawyer’s office, leaving his sister 
to see what she could arrange with the woman about some 
kind of a dinner, and the possibility of beds by and by. 

Ursula was anxious, if possible, to take up her quarters 
in the house in preference to seeking accommodation of 
doubtful comfort in the neighborhood. The servant, who 
had taken to her at once from her pleasant voice and consid- 
erate manner, was eager to enter into her plans, and quite 
certain she could make them both comfortable. 

Bedding was put to air before blazing fires ; odds and 
ends of antique china, old silver, and fine, darned table 
linen were routed by Ursula out of dust} T cupboards, full of 
cobwebs and smuts. One of the down-stairs rooms was 
fairly habitable, and two bedrooms could be made so without 
very much trouble ; and after a busy hour spent in dusting 
and pulling about furniture, washing and cleaning china and 
plate, and laying the table, Ursula found herself alone with 
the last of the daylight in the dim old house, whilst the ser- 
vant catered for them in the neighborhood. 

There was nothing for her to do now but to wander about 
with her own thoughts for her companions. She roamed 
through the house once more, looked at the antique furni- 
ture, planned which room should be her brother’s study, 
which the dining-room, which the drawing-room, tried to pic- 
ture him alone in his house, and failed ; wondered what he 
would do with all the empty rooms and the big attics in the 
roof, that were quite a feature in the house, and finally sat 
down by the window in the failing light to try and put into 
definite form some of tne thoughts that flitted through her 
brain. , 


kenrick’s legacy. 


265 


Kenrick’s return roused her from her brown study, and 
she eagerly ran to welcome him. He was pleased at what 
she had accomplished in his absence, and when, later on, they 
sat down to a comfortable meal together, half dinner and 
half tea, he began to feel, as he said, as if he had entered 
into his inheritance. 

“ I ’ve had a talk with the lawyer, and made out all there 
is to know. Old John Hicks was a man who had known 
better days, but had sunk into poverty during his later life. 
He had, however, enough for his modest wants, and would 
have been better off had he consented to sell his house, 
which, at one time, would have brought a good price. He 
would not hear of doing so, and now the neighborhood is so 
decayed that it is doubtful if the property would bring any- 
thing like its value. He had about five hundred dollars a 
year, on which he lived, and out of which he scraped and 
saved, with the intention of restoring the house to its old 
solidity and respectability. He had actually managed to put 
by between twenty-five hundred and three thousand dollars 
at the time of his death, and this sum is to be expended upon 
the property as specified in the will. I have everything, house 
. and money alike, with full control over it. There will be legal 
formalities to go through, and the repairs will take some time 
to accomplish, and cannot be commenced till the red-tape 
business is over. Still there is good hope that by the time I 
have taken over the practice and am ready to settle down here 
the house will be ready to receive me. I confess that it is 
a relief not to have to put up with lodgings in these parts, 
or to have to rent one of the little tenements that are graced 
by the name of houses. It was very good of the old man to 
think of me. I never was more surprised by anything in my 
life.” 


266 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Ursula looked half wistfully at her brother. 

“ Will you not be rather lonely all by yourself in this big 
house ?” 

‘ ‘ That remains to be proved. Who knows that I shall 
be all alone ? ” 

She looked at him quickly. 

“ Are you thinking of getting married, Kenrick?’ , 

His face changed at the question, and put on a look she 
did not understand. 

“ I was not thinking of that, Ursula. I do not think I 
shall ever many.” 

“ Why do you speak so sadly, Kenrick?” 

He looked her steadily in the face as he answered : — 

‘ ‘ Because I do not think that the kind of woman I should 
wish to many would ever consent to share a life like mine.” 

Ursula looked at him intently. 

u What makes you think that?” 

“ I think it because an ordinary hard-working woman, 
who would not object to a neighborhood like this, and who 
would take to a life without society and without luxury, and 
be content with it, is not the ideal woman I have sometimes 
pictured. I want refinement, originality, beauty, grace, cul- 
ture. I have been foolish enough to dream very wild 
dreams sometimes, but a walk in the streets round here has 
dissipated them to the four winds. You do not know what 
the poorer parts of London are like ; sometimes even the air 
one breathes seems to crush the very life out of one.” 

“ It would not crush it out of me,” said Ursula. 

“No, I do not believe it would,” he answered, looking 
hard at her. “ You are made of the same tough fibre that 
I am. You have a world of your own to live in, apart 
from the sordid one around. You are a Londoner bom and 


kenfxjk’s legacy. 


267 


bred, and have sympathy with the great hurly-burly of life 
there. But there 'ire very few Ursulas in the world, you 
xnow.” 

She answered his smiling glance by one very much like it, 
full of brightness and hope. 

“ But there is one, you know, always ready at hand. Is 
JK/t ore enough at a time ? ” 

He was trying to read her face with his keen dark eyes. 

“Does that mean, Ursula, that you are ready to make 
your home with me when the time comes for me to live 
here?” 

She flushed deeply at hearing her own vague thought put 
into definite shape. 

“Indeed I am, Ken,” she answered, “if father and 
mother will spare me.” 

“ You are not sacrificing your own ease and happiness 
for my sake? Remember how very different the life here 
will be from anything you have known before. There is a 
good library in the house, it is true, and I hope to add to 
it in time ; but when you have said that, you have said all 
there is in its favor ; and you will be miles from the British 
Museum and University College, and farther still from South 
Kensington — ” 

“My dear Ken, I know where I am as well as you do. 
I am in a place where it is impossible to be dull, partly 
because there is an excellent library indoors, partly because 
there is an infinite amount of work to be done without.” 

He looked at her in some surprise. 

“ Work without? For me, no doubt ; but I was thinking 
of you.” 

Ursula was looking straight before her, with intent gaze 
indicative of deep thought. 


268 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“Iam thinking of myself too.” 

44 How?” 

She drew a deep breath. 

44 Ken,” she said, 44 it has been in my mind all day — it 
seems as if it had been there for weeks and months. I want 
to do something for these people, — I want to do something 
that is not all selfish, even as selfish as the perpetual acquire- 
ment of knowledge. Think how miserable they are, how 
ignorant, how degraded. I want to teach them, to elevate 
them, to show them that, however wretched their external 
lives may be, there is something grand and beautiful beneath, 
that even they can know something of if they will but try. 
Oh, I know it all sounds very visionary, — it is all vague and 
visionary now, — but it will take shape in time. I am in 
earnest, and I feel I can do something if only I have time 
and opportunity. You are going to doctor their bodies ; let 
me try what I can do to doctor their minds. Between us, 
Kenrick, we ought to do something.” 

“Towards the attainment of the mens sana in corpore 
sano?” questioned Kenrick, with a grave little smile, that 
had in it, however, no tinge of ridicule. He was surprised 
to hear such words from Ursula. He had not supposed that 
she possessed such wide sympathies with the human race ; 
she had never before, to his knowledge, showed any indica- 
tion of a wish to be anything but a student and a philosopher. 
He had no idea whether this sudden development had been 
of quick or of slow growth ; he only knew that it took him 
quite by surprise. 

44 You do not answer me, Ken. Does that mean that you 
have no belief in me ? ” 

44 Not in the very least. I was silent because I was sur- 
prised ; but I need not say how glad I am to hear of any 


Kenrick’s legacy. 


269 


project which shall be of use to others whilst giving interest 
to you. Have you any definite ideas about things j’et? ” 

“Oh, no! it is all too sudden, too strange; but when I 
see this big house, and think what might be done with it, all 
sorts of ideas come crowding into my head. I want to 
teach the people, — to teach the children, the girls who work 
in shops, the boys who idle away their spare time at the 
street corners, learning only vice and profanity. I want to 
teach the wretched women how to keep their homes clean 
and their children healthy. I want to teach everybody some- 
thing. Oh ! why is n’t everybody anxious to learn ? There is 
nothing like knowledge in all the world ! ” 

Ivenrick smiled quietly to himself, but he was not dis- 
pleased at his sister’s enthusiasm, even though it might be 
somewhat unpractical. 

“ Well, Ursula,” he said, “ we have many months before 
us to think and to plan, and by the time we are ready to 
settle down here, no doubt we shall have matured some one 
or other of your many ideas. Mind not to fall into the old 
habit of putting too many irons in the fire. Remember that 
people who are satisfied with nothing less than teaching 
everybody are likely to find in the end that they have done 
no good to anybody.” 

Ursula listened very gravel}', and by and by a little smile 
stole over her face. 

“I will try to remember that, Ken; but you know I 
always do want to do everything, — and feel as if I could do 
it, too.” 

“ That feeling will go off in time, I am afraid,” he 
answered, smiling, “ when you begin to find by practice how 
big a place the world can be.” 

“You know what the feeling is, then, Ken?” 


270 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ Indeed, yes ! it is only latterly that I have learned to 
bring down my lofty ideas to something tangible — to be 
glad to think I may some time be able to do something, 
instead of being certain that I was going to do everything.” 

“ That sounds rather like a rebuke,” said Ursula, with 
a smile. 

<c It is not meant as any such thing ; only as a little bit 
of practical experience from a practical man. Now, come 
and let us look at the books again. You must be librarian, 
and make a catalogue for me.” 

Kenrick and Ursula spent a week in the new house, 
before everything was settled with the lawyer as to what was 
to be done to it as soon as the money could be appropriated 
to the specified purpose. On one point Kenrick was firm : 
the house — all the lower rooms at least — should be dec- 
orated and furnished with due regard to artistic beauty and 
refinement. There should be nothing of rough-and-ready 
bachelor bareness about the home his sister was to share 
with him. She should have around her all the little ele- 
gances and luxuries to which she had been used, and which 
really add but little to the expenses of an establishment after 
the first outlay has been made. She should have a home in 
which she should take a pleasure and pride, and which would 
be a pleasant place for friends to come to who were not afraid 
to penetrate so far east. If there was no beauty to be seen 
without, it must be secured as far as possible within. The 
old man’s savings enabled Kenrick to gratify his taste for 
what was good and handsome, and in a quiet, m^erate way 
his house was to be made hoine-like and comfortable — per- 
haps in one or two points even luxurious. 

Ursula was rather hard to convince as to the wisdom of 
this plan. She was all for stern simplicity and almost 


Kenrick’s LEGACV. 


271 


prison-like plainness and bareness. She said she liked the 
flagged kitchen at the Warrens better than any other room 
she had known, and did not know what she should do with 
a drawing-room. However, Kenrick was firm, and she was 
obliged to yield, and to console herself with the thought that 
there was still plenty of unadorned space on the upper floor 
and in the attics, to say nothing of the big building in the 
yard, which looked as if it had been built for a gymnasium, 
although nobody had heard of its ever having been used, 
and which Ursula looked on as her peculiar property, thank- 
ful that Kenrick had pronounced it too large for a consulting- 
room for patients. A room in the house was reserved for 
that purpose, and Ursula was free to dream over her educa- 
tional plans in the great barnlike building, and to people it 
in imagination with the forms of the future pupils, who were 
to be introduced by her to those branches of learning most 
adapted to their wants, and most likely to have a beneficial 
effect on their lives. 

Ursula could not imagine a world whose inhabitants did 
not want to learn. When she went abroad and saw igno- 
rance and vice and misery stamped upon almost every face 
she met, she could not but contrast their lots with hers, and 
shudder as she tried to picture what such ignorance and 
wretchedness could be like. It was their ignorance that 
touched her most, that brought home to her as nothing else 
could have done the sordid misery of their lives. For her- 
self, she always felt that physical hardships were compara- 
tively trifling, that poverty would be but little trouble to her, 
if only she was left the companionship of books and her own 
thoughts. But once let her try to picture a state of exist- 
ent e to which there was absolutely no intellectual side, and 
she shrank with an unconquerable sense of horror from the 


2 72 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


bare thought, so that her whole soul was stirred within her 
with longing to do something for the miserable humhn beings 
who had been denied the privileges that she had so fully 
enjoyed. 

So far she had dreamed rather than thought. It could 
hardly be otherwise during these first days, perhaps. She 
had dim, vague ideas of universal brotherhood, and the beau- 
tiful tie that should link her life in bonds of love with those 
poorer, humbler brothers and sisters whose happiness should 
be her care. She would be their friend — their fiiend in the 
truest sense of the word. They should learn to come to her 
in their troubles, to take counsel with her in all the cares and 
difficulties of life. She would read up diligently every sub- 
ject that could bear upon their needs. Sanitary reform 
should be her next study, and she would spare no pains or 
labor in the acquirement of practical knowledge of a kind 
likely to be useful to them. She had become conscious of 
late of yearnings and aspirations that not even the acquire- 
ment of knowledge had been able altogether to satisfy. Now r 
she felt as if she had found what she really sought — a work 
in life that, whilst leaving her time for her own pursuits and 
the formation of her mind, should yet give scope for a wider 
range of interests, and exercise other faculties beyond those 
of the intellect alone. 

She would live for others as well as for herself, and lay 
aside her lofty dream of fame, in order to minister to the 
wants of those who stood, as it were, at her gate. She felt 
that a life so spent would be, in its own way, a happy and a 
useful one ; and if she sometimes sighed at what she fan- 
cied she was giving up, her purpose never wavered. And 
in that settled purpose she went back to the Warrens to tell 
those at home all that had been done by the acquisition of 
Kenrick’s legacy. 



CHAPTER XX. 

TAKING COUNSEL. 

W HEN Ursula and Kenrick returned home late 
on in August, it was to find Hilda and 
Kingsley quite unexpectedly established at 
the Warrens for a fortnight’s visit. 

Montague had been persuaded to accept an invitation to 
Scotland for a week or two with the grouse, and Kingsley 
had written from Langbridge to Mrs. Tempest to ask if she 
would “take in” him and his sister for a little time, 
so that he might renew his pleasant acquaintance with the 
breezy moorland before he retired finally into his winter 
quarters. 

It seemed as if the change of air and scene, and perhaps 
the pleasure of his sister’s engagement, had given Kingsley 
an unexpected access of health and strength He had 
looked forward much to visiting the Warrens again ; and he 
was ready in a quiet way to join the family life of the house- 
hold, and to take his share in all that was going on. 

The weather just suited him, being exceedingly dry, yet 
not overpoweringly hot. Since the acute rheumatism of 
last winter, damp and east wind had been his two great ene- 
mies, and, now that these two had been relegated to obscurity 
for full three months, and there was no great heat to try 
him, he seemed to take out a new lease of life, and to be 
18 [ 273 ] 



JOINT GUARDIANS. 


274 

able once more to enjoy being something more than a mere 
spectator in what went on. 

Hilda was very happy — happier than she had been for 
years ; and this happiness gave to her a new charm, that 
exercised its fascination over every one. Iler engagement 
was not yet made known ; she clung to her first wish with 
curious persistency, and seemed to dread the proclamation 
of any kind of change. 'Moreover, her father with his wife 
and Venice were absent just now from the Cedars, and until 
she had announced to him the tie between herself and 
Mervvn, she objected to have it made known in other quar- 
ters. She saw her lover almost daily, either at the Warrens, 
where he was a great favorite, or at the Lodge, and for the 
present that was enough for both. She was living just now- 
in those halcyon days that so often follow, and are followed 
again by, hours of trial and storm. Low-lying clouds there 
were already upon the horizon of her happiness, but in the 
brightness of the present sunshine they were hardly observed 
and resolutely disregarded. For a time, at least, she was 
wishful, nay, determined, to live in the present. 

Beryl had heard with some dismay that Hilda proposed to 
accompany Kingsley to the Warrens, and had indulged in 
many groaning comments as to the stiffness and ceremony 
that she would bring with her ; for, despite the increase of 
friendliness between the two families, a little of the old feel- 
ing lingered in some minds, and Beryl had vivid recollections 
of what she called the “etiquettes” of life at the Cedars 
during the few days of her visit in July. 

Mrs. Tempest, however, only smiled at her daughter’s 
gloomy prognostications, and in effect Beryl had herself to 
own that they were not verified. Hilda accommodated her- 
self to the ways of the household she had entered, and 


TAKING COUNSEL. 


275 


conformed to their habits with the ease of true good-breed- 
ing, and was just as pleasant and considerate as a guest as 
she had been before as a hostess. 

When Ivenrick and Ursula returned they found Hilda and 
Kingsley quite settled at the Warrens, ready to hear with 
almost as much interest as any one else the story of their 
journey to London. 

They had to tell the tale a good many times over before 
everybody was satisfied that all the details had been made 
plain ; but for a time nothing was said with reference to 
Ursula’s plan of going to share Ivenrick’s home with him ; 
that must be talked over quietly with her parents first. Yet 
some suspicion of her wish crept into many minds as the 
tale was told, and prepared her relatives against surprise 
when the news came to be known. 

Ursula herself told Kingsley about it on a Sunday even- 
ing, when, by her own wish this time, she remained with him 
when the others had gone to church. He was able to spend 
most of his time out of doors now, and it was beneath the 
shade of a great elm-tree upon the edge of the moor that the 
girl settled herself beside him to tell him about it. 

She wanted Kingsley to know all ; she wanted his appro- 
bation and sympath}\ She had got into a way of wondering 
what his views would be on different subjects, how he would 
look at them and judge them, and she had come to attach an 
importance to his opinions that she did not quite understand 
herself. 

She talked to him very freely this evening of all that was 
in her heart, and he listened with great interest and atten- 
tion, not speaking much, leaving the talk to her, as was his 
way, but encouraging her to speak freely by his visible 
sympathy and comprehension of the subject. 


27 6 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“Your mother is willing to let you go?” he asked, 
presently, when she had had her say. 

“ Yes ; mother says she never expected to keep me very 
long in a quiet home like this. She tells me she has always 
had a conviction that I should pine for some more active 
kind of life before many years had passed. I think she is 
glad that my ambition has not soared towards anything less 
reasonable than keeping house for Kenrick.” 

“ And if Kenrick marries?” Kingsley asked. 

“Ah, yes; I have thought of that too — although he 
thinks he never will. You see, he and I nearly alwa} r s like 
the same people, and I think perhaps in that lonely house, 
with no kind of society round, and Ken always out, even a 
wife would rather like to have me there. At any rate, if 
not, I could keep out of the way. I would take possession 
of the attics, and, with them and my 4 lecture-room ’ outside, 
I should be quite happy. I do not think any one who married 
Kenrick would grudge me that amount of accommodation. 

Kingsley looked amused at her eagerness. 

“ I hardly fancy so either ; probably, as you say, a sister’s 
presence in the house would be a benefit to all. I hope you 
will be very happy, Ursula.” 

“I hope I shall be useful and do some good in the 
world,” she answered. “ That is the main point ; the other 
matters much less.” 

“Yet will probably follow as a natural sequence.” 

“ Will it? Well, perhaps.” She looked at him earnestly 
for a few moments and then said, quickly, “ You have not 
told me what you think of my scheme.” 

Kingsley’s hands were clasped behind his head ; he lay 
looking out over the purple moorland, occupied with grave 
thoughts. 


TAKING COUNSEL. 


277 


“ I think a great many things,” he answered ; “so many 
that it is difficult to know where to begin.” 

“ I know that we look at life from different stand-points,” 
continued Ursula, speaking quickly, as was her way when 
roused. “We are agreed in many things ; I have learned a 
great deal from you. I have thought a great deal of what 
you said about not letting our lives be selfish, even with the 
selfishness of perpetual study. I did not see your point at 
once, but I do now. I mean to try hard not to be selfish.” 

She stopped short rather suddenly, but as he did not 
speak nor embarrass her by so much as a look, she continued 
in the same eager way : — 

“ So far we think pretty much alike now, I think ; but 
in other ways, I know, we are different. You were going 
to be a clergyman : you naturally look at life and everything 
else from what might be called the religious stand-point. 
Now mine is more what I should call the intellectual. You 
think about people’s souls, I, about their minds. I do not 
mean that I in the very least undervalue such jv’ork as you 
would have done — as you will still live to do, I hope ; it 
may be higher than anything I can hope to accomplish, but 
it is not of a kind which I am competent to undertake. I 
have my own religious beliefs, of course, and I hope they are 
not insincere or shallow ; but I could not talk of them, I 
could not preach to other people about them. I can teach, I 
hope, and to some purpose, but I must keep religion in the 
background ; I must leave that subject to those more quali- 
fied than I to deal with it.” 

She paused again, and looked at Kingsley in a way that 
showed she wished him to speak. 

“ The question that will soon rise up to face you will be, 
Can you keep that subject altogether in the background?” 


278 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Ursula looked at liim keenly. 

“ What do you mean? What is the difficulty 

“ The difficulty is that what I suppose you mean by reli- 
gion, the deep questions of life and death, time and eternity, 
are so inextricably mixed up with our daily lives that to lay 
them on a shelf by themselves as a thing apart, only to be 
looked at or spoken of at specified times, is a practical 
impossibility. ,, 

“ I have not found it so,” she answered ; “at least 
hardly at all. I am convinced the people amongst whom 
my work will lie will have no such difficulty to combat. 
The difficulty with them would be, I imagine, to get them 
roused to any interest at all in such matters.” 

Kingsley’s glance was turned upon her for a moment 
with an expression she did not understand. 

“Are you speaking from experience, Ursula? or is that 
your own theory ? ” 

She was staggered for a moment, and then answered, 
frankly: — . 

“ My own theory, I suppose, for at present I can boast 
no experience ; only, I do think it stands to reason that the 
poor, degraded people of whom we are talking should not 
have any such deep cravings after religion as shall make it 
impossible to keep that, subject in the background.” 

He was silent, gazing away over the wide moor again 
with that inexplicable look upon his face that was half a 
smile, yet expressed an infinite tender sadness. He was 
silent so long that she had to speak. 

“ You have said too much not to say more, Kingsley,” 
she said. “ Tell me what you mean.” 

Still it was some time before he answered. 

“ There are some things,” he said, quietly, “ very hard to 


TAKING COUNSEL. 


279 


put into words — things, nevertheless, that are very patent to 
us as we walk through life. I am a bad hand at talking, 
Ursula. I am not at all sure that I shall make you under- 
stand what I mean, still less that I shall convince you ; but 
my convictions have this much advantage over yours, that 
they are founded on experience.” 

“Experience?” 

“ Yes, the experience of three months’ work in that very 
part of London, with my friend the clergyman, Mr. Holmes.” 

Ursula looked at him fixedly. 

“You really have worked there, then? ” 

“ Yes, early last yeaT for three months.” 

“ I did not know.” 

“ Most likely not. My father had a distaste to the 
scheme of life I had sketched out for myself, and was con- 
vinced that I should find out I had made a great mistake in 
my choice. I considered that the best way of settling such 
a point was to give the life a practical trial, which I did dur- 
ing the first three months of last year, from Christmas till 
Easter.” 

“With what result? ” 

“ That my original wish was only strengthened. If 
other things had not combined to stop me, I think I should 
be working there now.” 

“ Perhaps you will do so still,” said Ursula, in her bright, 
earnest way. “ I cannot believe that so useful a life as 
yours will be quite laid aside.” 

The far-away look was all the answer she got. She 
paused a little before speaking again. 

“You have not explained what you said just now, 
Kingsley, about not being able to separate moral and intel- 
lectual teaching from religious.” 


280 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ It is not a question easy to explain.” 

“ I dare say not, but I wish you would try.” 

She looked very much in earnest, and he saw it. He 
studied her face a little before answering, and then he asked 
her a question : — 

“ Ursula, can you define a little what it is you mean to do 
for these people? Can you sum up in brief the aim and 
object of your labors? What is the end you will have in 
view ? ” 

She paused awhile in thought, and then answered 
slowly : — 

“ I think it will be to civilize and humanize them, then 
to refine and elevate them by education. Of course I am 
prepared to fail, but I think that is what I mean to aspire 
to.” 

“ Very good,” he answered, quietly ; “ let us begin at the 
beginning. You wish to civilize them first. Now tell me, 
Ursula, — you have read and thought, — review the history of 
the world, and tell me what has been the most important 
factor in civilization.” 

She looked at him steadily. 

“You mean Christianity, I know,” she said, “ and every 
one must admit the great work it has done ; and yet think 
to what a height civilization had attained before ever Christ 
lived here at all.” 

“ There are two kinds of civilization, Ursula,” he an- 
swered. “Call to your memory the pictures we have had 
drawn for us of life in those princely cities civilized without 
Christianity, and tell me if you can honestly say that civili- 
zation of that kind would satisfy you.” 

Ursula was silent : she was thinking deeply ; her silence 
was her answer. 


TAKING COUNSEL. 


281 


“ So, Ursula, you cannot quite leave out Christianity, if 
you are to begin with civilization.” 

“ I do not want it left out ; I only wish to leave it to those 
better suited to teach it. I do not consider it my province.” 

A shade of sadness passed over Kingsley’s face. 

“Are fellow-workers so plentiful there, Ursula, that the 
ground can be divided like that?” 

She was silent, but not with the silence of conviction, as 
he very well knew. He looked away over the hills, and went 
on speaking in a quiet, thoughtful way. 

“You will understand better what I mean, Ursula, when 
you live in the midst of it all, when the hardest problems of 
life rise up day by day before you, and confront you with 
stern questions at every step you take. It is not onty social- 
ism and democracy, it is human nature itself, that asks, 
Why have you everything and I nothing ? Why is my life 
all toil, pain, hardship, and want, whilst you live lapped in 
luxury? Why is such inequality and injustice allowed? 
Why are poverty and misery the inevitable portion of so 
many hundreds of thousands from the cradle to the grave?” 

He paused a moment, and then went on speaking in a 
very low, yet very clear tone, that seemed to his listener 
more impressive than any excitement of manner could have 
been. 

“ These are questions, Ursula, that can never be actually 
answered, problems that in this world will never be alto- 
gether solved. No one can explain in a way that is satis- 
factory to the sufferers why some live in poverty and misery 
all their days, with nothing but sorrow and hardship to look 
forward to. But, though we cannot argue away the difficulty, 
there is still something that we can do,” 

“What?” 


282 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“We can tell them of One who deliberately chose a life 
of poverty, hardship, suffering, and woe, and by so doing 
sanctified and hallowed it for all those who come after. We 
can tell them of the one sinless Life, — sinless in the midst 
of every external trial, — which has proved that purity, and 
virtue, and patient endurance are possible even in the midst 
of what is most sordid and most vile. We can tell them of 
Him who lived for them first, and who died for them at last, 
and who lives now to make intercession, and to watch over 
each one of His children. No life is so hard and so bitter 
as His was ; and He bore it without a murmur. If you can 
teach them to understand that one fact, you will find you 
have taken the first great step. Go to them with hard, dry 
tenets of domestic economy, and the laws of nations, and 
they will shake their heads in uncomprehending indifference. 
Bujb tell them of One who was rich, yet who for our sakes 
became poor, and hold up the Pattern Life as the one for 
them to copy, and then you may perhaps touch their hearts, 
and make them understand, however dimly, that there may 
be beauty, pathos, even dignity and happiness, in the most 
humble, toilsome life.” 

He paused awhile, and then went on : — 

“ You want to humanize and ennoble them, and I trust 
and hope that you may succeed ; but when you go to live 
there amid all that misery and grinding poverty, you will find 
that the first thing to do is to bring something of hope into 
their lives. There is not much chance of this world’s ever 
growing to be a very pleasant place for them. The only 
thing is to try and make them realize the great eternal home 
that is waiting for them beyond, where no poverty or pain 
can enter to touch them, and where all tears will be wiped 
away. Life here is too hard for them to understand ; but 


TAKING COUNSEL. 


283 


they can be taught to believe that all will some day be made 
plain, and that in some mysterious way what they have been 
called upon to bear here will be more than made up to them 
by the rest and happiness hereafter.” 

“ Is not that rather a selfish creed?” asked Ursula, with 
her grave, intent look. 

His face kindled as he rejoined : — 

“You must try and put yourself on a level with your 
pupils,” he answered, “ and present your creed according to 
their powers of comprehension. They will want everything 
stated very simply at first ; but Christianity, as the simplest 
as well as the loftiest of creeds, is suited to the needs of 
every one. They will want talking to like children, on some 
points, yet they will not be teachable like children. They 
will not grasp any high flights, they will look at things from 
a personal aspect ; but, as religion is essentially a personal 
thing, perhaps -that is just as well. You may teach them 
a great deal, Ursula, and do very much for them ; but, unless 
I am very much mistaken, you will never get on far without 
being prepared to point out to them very simply and clearly 
the way to heaven.” 

“ The way ? ” She paused. 

“ Yes, the living way — Jesus Christ.” 

Then there was a long silence, which neither attempted to 
break. Ursula sat musing deeply, turning over in her mind 
what she had heard, and wondering if she should have, after 
all, to modify the scheme of life she had laid down for her- 
self, or at least the scheme of education she had elaborated 
for others. 

She was not convinced that Kingsley’s views of things 
were, of necessity, correct ; she respected and admired him 
much, but she was not certain that his opinions were entirely 


284 « 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


to be relied upon. His mind was cast in a mould that she 
termed “ devotional/’ and it still remained to be proved if it 
was also practical. It was quite possible, she thought, that 
a long illness, coupled with a possible life-long lameness, 
might give a color to his thoughts that was not entirely to be 
trusted as a guide for active work. 

She looked at him so seriously and earnestly that she 
broke the spell of his abstraction, and his eyes lighted, as if 
he had divined her thoughts. 

“You need not take it on trust,” he said, “wait and 
see when you get there. You are quite right to wish to 
judge for yourself : a man like me,, who has spent all his 
life here or at Oxford, is not likely to be an authority on 
the subject of the London poor.” 

Ursula could not help smiling. 

*“ I was not thinking quite that.” 

“ Something rather like it though.” 

“ I am afraid I am dreadfully self-opinionated,” said 
Ursula, with a little sigh, “but I never can be satisfied 
without finding things out for myself.” 

“You are quite right,” he said, quietly. “That is the 
way to learn.” 

She was silent a moment, and then asked : — 

“ Kingsley, don’t you think, honestly, that your ideas 
differ rather considerably from those of most other people?” 

He looked half amused, yet thoughtful. 

“ Is that not rather a comprehensive question?” 

“ Perhaps ; but I think you must know what I mean.” 

“Iam not sure that I do.” 

“ I think you do, Kingsley. I wish you would tell me 
what the difference is.” 

He seemed to ponder a little, and she watched him 


TAKING COUNSEL. 


285 


intently, wondering what feelings lay hidden away beneath 
that calm exterior. 

u Perhaps it is only the difference,” he answered, at 
length, “ between looking forward and looking back.” 

“ I don’t think I understand you.” 

“No? Well, don’t you know how bright and hopeful 
everything seems when we look forward into the future? 
We are so certain we shall carry all before us, and prove to 
have been in the right. We feel strong and confident look- 
ing forward ; but looking back we see the errors, the falls, 
the unfaithfulness, — the want that made the blot and nearly 
marred the whole ; we see clearly then what that want was, 
how impossible life is unless that blank is filled.” 

He spoke in a very low tone, and fell into a deep fit of 
musing. His face was graver than she had ever seen it, and 
yet there was light behind. 

“ But, Kingsley,” she said, presently, “ why do you talk 
as if you could only look back upon life ? as if yours were 
almost over? Perhaps your life in the future ma}* be dif- 
ferent, less active or bright, but surely you too have much 
to look forward to still ? ” 

“ Why, yes, a good deal, I believe,” he answered, a little 
strangely ; and then, after another thoughtful pause, he added, 
“After all, Ursula, it matters little whether we look forward 
or back, so long as we never forget to look up too.” 

Her eyes were fixed earnestly upon him. 

“ All ! ” she said. “ I think perhaps you have given me 
an answer at last. You are different from any one else that 
I have known, because you are always looking up.” 



CHAPTER XXI. 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 



ENICE EDGELER did Dot much enjoy tne 
round of visits she was doomed to pay with 
her mother and step-father that summer. She 


did not mind staying at the houses of his friends, but 
when it came to those of their own former acquaintances 
she found herself by no means comfortable, and she would 
have given much to find herself back at the Cedars ouce 
more. As she had said on a former occasion, she neither 
liked her mother’s friends nor the effect their society had 
upon her. Mrs. Tempest always seemed to become more 
worldly-minded, more the scheming woman of old days, 
when in the midst of her former friends than she did at 
any other time. The habit of scheming and planning had 
partially died away with the prosperous turn in her for- 
tunes that had obviated its necessity, but a habit once 
formed is easily awakened by old associations, and in this 
instance Venice was to be the victim of her mother’s plots 
and plans. 

Venice had developed considerably of late, and in a way 
not by any means in accordance with her mother’s views. 
She had always been a little difficult, not quite easy to 
understand or to manage, yet in former days the mother felt 
that they were tolerably well in accord ; that Venice uuder- 


[28G] 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


28 ? 


stood the part she had to play, and was prepared to play it 
to good purpose. 

Latterly, however, the girl had changed. Mrs. Tempest 
was conscious of this, and Venice was far more aware of it 
herself. Life looked a very different thing to her now from 
what it had done six months ago. She had been living in a 
different atmosphere, had been associating with different 
characters. Her keenly acute powers of observation had 
been directed t<3wards objects altogether out of the range of 
her old fielcf of vision, and an entirely new set of impressions 
had been produced upon her. 

Kingsley’s influence had not been without its effect upon 
Venice; neither had that of the household at the Warrens 
with Mrs. Tempest at its head. Venice began to understand 
that there were deeper meanings both in life and in death than 
she had ever known or understood. Life was not a mere 
plaything — a meaningless span to be idled away in easy, 
frivolous fashion, without aim or object beyond the obtaining 
of this world’s goods and the pleasant passing away of the 
allotted time. Death was not a mere blank and oblivion, 
the snapping short of the thread of life. No ; life and death 
meant much more to her now than this ; and yet the more 
deeply she thought and felt, the more conscious did she 
become of the difficulties of her own position. 

She had been able to talk more freely to Mrs. Tempest 
of some of the vague perplexities of her position than had 
been possible wflth any one else. Whilst the party from the 
Warrens had been staying at the Cedars, Venice had prof- 
ited by her opportunities, and had enjoyed many confiden- 
tial talks with “ Aunt Helen,” as she had learned to call 
her. The way in which she had been adopted as a cousin 
by the unceremonious, warm-liearted party from the other 


288 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


house had pleased her very much, and even her mother had 
raised no objection to the easy cousinly terms tacitly adopted 
by all. Perhaps she felt that to object would, under the 
circumstances, have done more harm than good. After all, 
Kenrick was the only member of the party she was at all 
afraid of, and, had he held aloof when his brothers made 
friends, it would, perhaps, have been more suspicious than 
was the present quiet friendliness that existed between him 
and her daughter, — that daughter whose future was still a 
point of much anxiety to her. 

The purer atmosphere of the Cedars, far removed from 
the petty plots and plans that had hitherto been so impor- 
tant a factor of her being, had not been without influence 
on the better side of Mrs. Tempest’s nature. She had not 
been able entirely to lay aside old feelings and idea, but at 
least she avoided an}’ prominent display of her ruling pas- 
sion, and had been content to enjoy the present life without 
troubling herself about the future. Indeed, it had seemed 
to her at first that her position as Gen. Reginald Tempest’s 
wife enabled her to look with calm indifference upon the 
future, in whatever form it might come. 

But, once removed from the Cedars, and thrown amongst 
her old friends, matters were vastly different. People began 
to wonder why Venice did not marry, to ask the mother how 
it was, with her talents and good looks, she did not marry, 
and hinted that there must be something odd about the girl, 
if she could not find admirers now. Surely there must be 
plenty of society all round Chandos Cedars. 

This kind of talk was decidedly galling to Mrs. Tempest. 
She was aware that part of it was dictated by a sort of 
covert spite, for there were some who envied her the brilliant 
marriage she had made, and others who were offended by 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


-289 


Venice’s reserve, and by the caustic sneers that often escaped 
her; yet the fact remained that Venice was unmarried, not 
even engaged, and, more mortifying still, that no young man 
of good family or expectations could be said to be paying 
his addresses to her. 

All this was excessively mortifying to Mrs. Tempest’s 
pride and ambition, and was made all the more so by her 
daughter’s cool indifference on the subject. She began to 
have a dim misgiving that Venice was developing in a way 
quite incomprehensible to her, — was, in fact, becoming 
almost too much for her, and that if she meant to be the 
arbitrator of her destiny, it behooved her to make a speedy 
stand, and to enforce obedience before her authority had 
passed away. 

She believed (for women of Mrs. Tempest’s determined 
cast of character have a way of thinking that what they 
much wish is about to come to pass) that Mervyn St. John 
had begun to entertain feelings of admiration for Venice, 
which only required judicious encouragement from her to 
grow into something warmer. This encouragement so far 
had certainly not been tendered, and it was now part of Mrs. 
Tempest’s plan to use all her authority with her daughter 
upon this very point. 

She heard with the very greatest satisfaction of the stroke 
of good fortune that had befallen him ; she was delighted 
to think that the temporary cloud over his horizon had now 
blown over ; she even began to drop hints to her confi- 
dential friends respecting Venice and Mr. Mervyn St. John, 
and, having once set afloat the rumor, she was prepared to 
strain every nerve to accomplish its verification. As her 
own creed was that a woman could marry any one on whom 
she set her mind, if only slie went to work in the right way, 
19 


290 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


it was perhaps natural that she looked to Venice as the main 
agent in the matter, and felt that more depended upon her 
than upon Mervyn. 

But Venice was quite impenetrable now upon such sub- 
jects, and only listened in silence to her mother’s well-turned 
phrases. She did not return calmly scornful answers, as 
she once would have done, nor did she attempt a sneering 
rejoinder even to Mrs. Tempest’s most irritating taunts or 
reproaches. She looked sad now, where once she would have 
been simply contemptuous, and her expression produced a 
curious effect sometimes upon the hardened woman of the 
world. 

Venice had been taking counsel of one of late who judged 
life by a standard different from that of her mother. Mrs. 
Tempest’s gentle words had sunk deeply into her heart, but 
they had not braced her to insubordination or rebellion ; on 
the contrary, no one could have spoken more seriously of 
the duties of children towards their parents, or of the value 
of obedience up to the furthest point possible. But if 
obedience to an earthly parent involved a breach of a higher 
law yet, then the point was reached at which conscience must 
arbitrate between conflicting duties, when it might be need- 
ful to stand firm, even against a mother’s authority. 

Yet Mrs. Tempest, in admitting this much when pressed 
by Venice for an answer upon this most difficult of subjects, 
was very strong upon the necessity of reverence and filial 
submission as far as was possible. It might not be possible 
for a daughter to avoid opposing her mother in some wish of 
hers which was in antagonism to that daughter’s sense of 
right, but at least the child could avoid entering upon a 
course of conduct disapproved by the mother ; and Mrs. 
Tempest had seen sufficient in her life of the effects of youth- 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


291 


ful insubordination and rebellion, not to speak with some 
gravity and emphasis of the self-reproach and sorrow often 
entailed upon those who deliberately set aside the wishes of 
a parent to follow out a course of action simply to please 
themselves. 

And Venice turned these precepts over in her mind, and 
made many resolves deep down in her heart to keep them if 
she could. She knew that she might be forced to resist 
plans and projects that her mother might make on her 
behalf ; but at least she might avoid deliberately setting her- 
self up in opposition to what she knew would be her wishes. 
Yet the girl was restless and unhappy all this time. She felt 
acutely the hollowness of the life she led, felt it more than 
ever when letters reached her telling her of the piece of good 
luck that had fallen to Kenrick’s lot, and of the change it 
was to make in Ursula's life. She thought a great deal about 
it all, thought of it waking and sleeping. She did not know 
why Ursula’s description of that house behind the brick walls 
so fascinated her imagination, why she thought so much 
about it and about those who were to make it a centre of 
much useful, self-denying work ; but think of it and of them 
she undoubtedly did, so much so that it was with only a slight 
start of surprise that she met Kenrick face to face one day 
in the hall of the house where she was staying. 

She held out her hand and said, quietly : — 

“You here?” 

“Yes; Cameron is a fellow-student of mine at m3' hos- 
pital. He asked me down for a week with the grouse. I did 
not know if you were still here.” 

“Yes; we go on 'VVednesda\ T . I am glad we have not 
missed you altogether. How is your mother? How are } r ou 
all?” 


292 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“Very well, thanks; we always are. You do not look 
very flourishing yourself, Venice.” 

“I? Oh,’ I am well enough. I always dislike visiting so 
much that I dare say my face shows it. Have you seen the 
view from the terrace here? It is magnificent.” 

“ Suppose you show it me then,” he said ; and they went 
out together. 

Kenrick drew a deep breath as he looked over the wide 
landscape. It was nearing sundown, and he and Venice were 
quite alone in their vantage-ground. 

“ What a different view from the one I was contemplating 
a few days back ! ” he said. 

“You mean from the windows of your new house? I 
must congratulate you upon that acquisition, Kenrick.” 

“ Thank j^ou ; yes, it has been decidedly a piece of luck. 
After all, there is some sort of satisfaction in being spared 
the life one has to lead in bachelor lodgings in such a 
neighborhood.” 

“ I thought you liked the neighborhood so much?” 

Kenrick’s face was grave and thoughtful. 

“ Possibly I do still ; but every question has two sides to 
it, and life looks more serious the closer we approach it. 
I have not changed, and yet sometimes I have my own feel- 
ings about things that are not always easily put into words.” 

He glanced at her ; their eyes met for a moment, and 
both were quite silent for a while. 

“And Ursula is going to keep house for you, is she not? ” 
asked Venice, presently. 

“ She purposes coming to live with me,” answered Ken- 
rick ; 4 4 but I think her energies w r ill centre more in her own 
work than in any housekeeping.” 

“ What is her work to be?” 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


293 


“ I hardly know how far her plans have taken definite 
form ; but there will be no lack of work for as many helpers 
as can be found. My house stands in a very low part of 
the east of London, — a part, I suppose, you hardly know 
even by name. The people are poor, wretched, and de- 
graded beyond anything you can imagine. Ursula’s work 
will lie amongst them. She has great talents and great 
energies. If she throws herself into any kind of reforming 
work, I do not doubt her being able to effect a great deal of 
good ; though, of course, it will be gradual, and perhaps 
almost imperceptible for long enough to come. I do not 
think, however, that Ursula will easily be daunted, and in 
the end, I believe, she will reap her reward in seeing some 
result of her labors.” 

Venice was looking straight before her, a very intent 
expression upon her grave face. 

“I wonder why it is,” she said, speaking slowly and 
absently, u that some lives are full of such splendid chances, 
whilst others seem doomed to be frittered away in idleness 
and folly ? It is very hard — very hard ” 

Kenrick shot a keen glance at her, and a new expression 
swept across his face; but she was not looking at him, — 
hardly seemed conscious of his presence. 

“ What is hard?” he asked, after a little pause. 

“ Life,” she answered, briefly, not turning her head. 
“ Life, as many of us have to lead it, — without a hope or a 
chance of raising it above the dead level of a dead-alive 
world.” 

“I do not admit your proposition. I do not admit that 
any life cannot be redeemed from uselessness, nor do I 
agree to your definition of the world as 1 dead-alive/ ” 

She turned a curious look upon him. 


294 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ Yours is not,” she said. 

“ And yours,” he answered, “ is not so unless you make 
it.” 

“ That is not true,” she answered, in her cold, even tones. 
“You are speaking, as you so often do to me, without the 
least knowledge of your subject. Men are always unjust, — 
always have been so. It is they who legislate for the world, 
they who put women in their miserable subordinate position, 
and they who turn round and abuse them because they can- 
not free themselves from the trammels their masters have 
laid upon them. Oh, yes ! I know what I am saying. I 
have too much experience of the way of the world not to 
speak with some authority. You make us what we are, and 
then you turn round and abuse us for being what you have 
made us, — helpless, incompetent, servile.” 

Venice never spoke with any vehemence, but with a weary 
kind of disdain, that was a good deal more effective in its 
way. Kenrick watched her face as she spt)ke, and by and 
by he asked : — 

“ What makes you say all this, Venice?” 

“ I don’t know. It was very foolish of me. I suppose I 
was struck by the force of contrast.” 

“ The contrast between wfciat?” 

She shook her head impatiently. 

“ What does it matter? I have forgotten. No, I have 
not. It was the contrast between a woman’s lot who is given 
a reasonable share of independence of thought aud action, 
and one who is hedged in on every side by barriers of con- 
ventionality and prejudice.” 

“ In point of fact, between Ursula’s life and your own.” 

“You can put it that way if you choose. It is un- 
doubtedly true enough.” 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


29o 

He was silent a few minutes, and then spoke with a 
quickness that betokened some repression. 

“Venice,” he said, “ do you mean to say that you think 
Ursula to be envied for the work she purposes to do for the 
degraded people round her new home ? ” 

“ I most certainly do.” 

“Do you mean that you, surrounded by every luxury 
that wealth can bestow, can regard such a life as a thing to 
be desired? Think what it means, — hard work, unceasing 
toil, small thanks, hardly any visible result, one perpetual 
round of drudgery, and no outward beauty to soften or gild 
its sordid wretchedness. Think of all that, and you will 
perhaps change your mind.” 

“ Shall I? Do you think I never have any feelings for 
what is high, and noble, and beautiful? Is there nothing 
sordid in the constant pursuit of pleasure, — pleasure for its 
own sake, without one thought of anything beyond? Is 
there no weariness, no toil, no disappointment, no drudgery 
in the life we lead — we poor, helpless, butterfly girls, born 
and brought up for nothing better than to be dragged at 
society’s chariot wheels, to dance, and laugh, and make 
merry whether our hearts are heavy or light, whether life is 
a joy or a burden to us? I could work, and work with a will, 
for some great and noble object. I might grow weary, 
I might grow sorrowful, but at least there would be an end 
in view, — something to look back upon when one’s time had 
come to leave life and all its sorrows behind. But as things 
are, — ah, one cannot tell which is more hopeless, the hollow 
future or the dreary past ! You do not know, — you cannot 
understand ; you have a life to live.” 

He looked at her steadily. 

“And you too, Venice.” 


296 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


She returned his gaze. There was an inscrutable mourn- 
ful sadness in her eyes. 

“ Oh, yes ! ” she answered. “ I have a life to live too. of 
course : we none of us escape that fate.” 

Kenrick suddenly took hold of her hand. 

“ What do you mean, Venice?” he asked. * 

“Mean? Nothing. Shall we go in now? It gets cold 
here directly the sun has set.” 

Mrs. Tempest was not pleased to see Kenrick at the 
dinner-table that evening, but as she was going so shortly 
herself, his presence could not matter much. He talked 
a good deal to Venice, as was but natural, on occasions 
when they met ; but, owing to the exigencies of sport there 
were not many in number, and nothing in Venice’s manner 
betrayed the least interest in his arrival or in the unexpected 
meeting. She was quiet, and calm, and irresponsive as 
ever. 

But the time was drawing near for a return to the Cedars, 
and for arrangements to be made for a large party to assem- 
ble there to do honor to the partridges and to the covers 
that were the pride of the county. The General enjoyed his 
shooting more than anything else, and he always celebrated 
the advent of September by filling his house with as many 
congenial spirits as he could get together. 

Mrs. Tempest had her own guests to ask, and the house 
was to be fuller than ever. Mervyn St. John was, at her 
suggestion, included amongst those invited, and accepted the 
invitation promptly. Nothing was known so far about his 
engagement to Hilda, as both had wished to tell the General 
by word of mouth in preference to writing, and were wait- 
iug till his return home to announce it. Mrs. Tempest was, 
therefore, free to indulge her own hopes, and to see in his 


MOTHE $LN D DAUGHTER. 


297 


attraction towards the Cedars an indication of admiration 
for her own daughter. 

She was more gracious than her wont to Venice, listened 
with complacency to the girl’s genuine expressions of satis- 
faction at the prospect of a speedy return home. She was 
not very sorry herself to be going back to the Cedars ; not 
sorry to feel that she was about to play hostess to a larger 
party than it had ever held before since her advent. She 
was fond of the fine old house, and very fond of queening it 
there, especially when she had some of her own friends to 
witness her triumph. 

The whole place looked very home-like in its stately 
beauty when they returned there late in August ; but Mrs. 
Tempest was annoyed by Venice’s urgent request that 
Kingsley’s room should be given back to him during the 
coming winter. Kenrick had told her, so she said, that he 
was no better, and would most likely feel the change of sea- 
son severely ; and any mention of Kenrick’s name always 
annoyed Mrs. Tempest, who refused somewhat peremptorily 
to listen to her daughter’s request. 

It was too bu^y a time, however, to have leisure to dwell 
very much on any one topic. Guests began to arrive by 
almost every train, and by the evening of the thirty-first 
there was hardly a vacant room in the Cedars, and the long 
dining-table, extended to its fullest dimensions, was filled 
from end to end. 

Hilda and Montague had reached home that day. Kings- 
ley was staying on a little longer at the Warrens, half reluc- 
tant to return earlier than need be to “winter quarters,” 
and shrinking a good deal more than anybody knew from 
the idea of a great houseful of company. He had learned by 
experience that Mrs, Tempest’s friends were not exactly the 


298 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


kind of people he found it easy to . assimilate with, and his 
lameness and weakness tried him very much when he was 
brought into contact with strangers. Old family friends he 
was pleased enough to meet, but it was a great effort to him 
to make up his mind to encounter strange faces, and to sub- 
mit to inquiries and condolences from people about whom he 
knew nothing. Only the resolution and fortitude he had 
evinced throughout would have nerved him to make the 
effort. 

The Colquhouns and St. Johns were dining at the Cedars 
that night, and Mervyn was a man of some mark. Con- 
gratulations poured in upon him, and his plans and prospects 
were eagerly canvassed. Mervyn was always popular, 
though it would hardly be easy to define the reason for his 
popularity. He was very quiet, and cool, and nonchalant, 
never exerted himself much about anything, and took both 
good and evil with equal composure and calmness. He had 
never appeared cast down when fortune had frowned upon 
him, nor did he seem elated now. Nevertheless two years 
of sterner self-discipline than any he had known before had 
not been without their effect upon him, and - he was a better 
and a stronger man at the close of his probation than he had 
been at its commencement. He took the good wishes of his 
friends very quietly, said little himself, and did not enlighten 
them as to his future plans. He smiled without a trace of 
self-consciousness when told that he would be thinking of 
getting married now. Mrs. Tempest, watching him rather 
narrowly, thought him just a little bit too self-possessed. 

Hilda was looking very lovely that night. The old dam- 
ask bloom had returned to her cheek, the light of happiness 
to her beautiful eyes. Her father looked at her from time 
to time with a proud, fond glance of paternal love. He 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


299 


said to himself that she had never looked like that since 
young Churchill’s untimely death. It showed she was over 
her grief at last, and that even her anxiety about Kingsley 
must be passing away. All -was coining right at last, and he 
was in unusuall}’ genial spirits in consequence. 

Hilda’s good looks and the visible change in her were 
not lost upon Mrs. Tempest, who felt a little uneasy. 
There was a brilliance and a fascination about Hilda that 
she had never seen before, and which entirely eclipsed the 
colder charms of Venice, and threw them quite into the 
shade. Hilda had always been made much of by her father’s 
and brothers’ friends ; and there were those amongst them 
who secretly resented the step-mother’s presence at the 
Cedars, and would gladly have seen the daughter rein- 
stated in her old position. 

These old friends paid court to her assiduously, and she 
received their homage with a graceful and gracious dignity 
that was very winning. She was very happy that night, and 
happiness is a wonderful power in itself. She drew people 
round her by a sort of magnetic influence, and was undoubt- 
edly the queen of the evening. 

It was only quite late, when some of the ladies who 
had been travelling that day had retired to their rooms, 
and the gentlemen had made their -way to the smoking- 
room, that she was able to escape with Mervyn to the con- 
servatory, to enjoy a little of his society undisturbed by the 
presence of others. 

“ I want to speak to your father to-night, if I can, 
Hilda,” he said. “ May I ? ” 

“ If you wish,” she answered, with a quick, upward 
glance. “ Yes, he ought to know. He will be pleased. 
He always liked you, Mervyn.” 


300 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ Will he not find it hard to spare you? ” 

“ Not now, I think : things are so different. I am 
almost sure fie will be pleased. Shall we go together and 
find him, Mervyn? I think he would like to hear it from 
us both.” 

The General, as Hilda had foreseen, received the news 
very gladly. He had always been fond of Mervyn, and 
had long entertained a wish that he might be attached to 
the St. John family by some bond closer even than that 
of friendship. He gave his blessing very tenderly to his 
child, and she went away full of happiness. Venice spoke 
a few words of congratulation that were welcome from their 
perfect sincerity ; but from Mrs. Tempest’s kiss and smooth 
speeches Hilda shrank without knowing why. 

Mrs. Tempest was, in truth, in no amiable frame of mind. 
She had not for a moment believed that, after knowing each 
other so many years, Hilda and Mervyn would suddenly step 
into an engagement ; and, after the hints she had dropped 
with regard to her own daughter, it was a consummation 
intensely disagreeable and humiliating to her. 

“This is the outcome of Mervvn’s ridiculous attach- 
ment to the brothers, and Hilda’s perpetual attendance upon 
Kingsley. This is the result of that visit to Langbridge. 
Really, I call Kingsley a very tiresome young man. He 
wants thoroughly stirring up out of his idle ways and fan- 
cies. I have no patience with him or them, as I will show 
him when he comes home. It is altogether most annoying 
and provoking.” 



CHAPTER XXIL 


AT CHANDOS CEDARS. 



T the Warrens there was almost as much excite- 


ment on the occasion of the great “ first” as at 
the Cedars itself. The General had issued in- 


vitations to all the boys to join the sportsmen, whilst the 
girls were to meet at the rendezvous appointed for the mid- 
day lunch, and enjoy their share of the festivities of the 


day. 


The novelty of the thing had attractions for all, and 
the invitations were cordially accepted. Kingsley insisted 
that his aunt should go to see how things were done, and 
bring him home a real description of it all. Cecil was de- 
termined to stay at home with him. He was hardly of an 
age to care much for luncheon parties, or shooting parties 
either ; and those two were always so well contented with 
each other’s company that the rest of the cousins went off 
in gay spirits, not at all afraid of being missed. 

Kingsley and Cecil were not, however, left long alone, 
for, quite early in the afternoon, their solitude was unex- 
pectedly invaded by Hilda and Mervyn, who rode up about 
three o’clock to pay their brother a visit. 

Kingsley was in the garden. He greeted them warmly, 
yet with something of surprise. 

“Hollo, Mervyn! not shooting? You ought to be 


[ 301 ] 


302 JOINT GUARDIANS. 

ashamed of yourself. I was nearly going out with a gun 
myself, but remembered I had taken out no license. What 
will the General say to you ? ” 

“ The General understands. I told him you and Hilda 
must have half my day.” 

Kingsley’s eyes brightened. 

“ He know T s, then?” 

“ Yes ; he has given his consent. I think he is very 
much pleased.” 

Mervvn and Cecil led away the horses to the stable, and 
as Hilda bent over to kiss her brother he looked up and 
asked : — 

“ You are very happy, little sister?” 

“ Yes, very,” she answered, returning the warm clasp of 
his hands. “ Sometimes I feel as if it would not last : it is 
all too bright and cloudless.” 

“ You must try and keep the clouds away,” he answered. 
“There is a light, you know, that shine th more and more 
unto the perfect day. I should like to think it was that 
light which was shining over your path.” 

She stood silently beside him, many different expressions 
passing over her face. She did not answer, but pressed his 
hand, and he fancied he saw the glitter of a tear in her 
eye. 

Mervvn and Cecil returned shortly. 

' “It’s an awful bore you can’t be our tutor any longer, 
Mervyn,” Cecil was saying. “ I shall call you Mervyn now 
because you Te going to marry Hilda, and she’s our cousin. 
Ken says he’ll coach us and look after us till he goes to 
town, but after that I suppose we shall have to have some 
other tutor. It’s an awful bore you’ve got rich again, and 
are going to desert us.” 


AT CH ANDOS CEDARS. 


303 


Hilda and Kingsley exchanged amused glances. 

“ That little pitcher has uncommonly long ears and sharp 
eyes/’ said the young man. “There is no keeping any- 
thing from him ; but he is a capital little fellow for all that. 
He and I are great friends.” 

“ I think you and Hilda might adopt me,” Cecil presently 
suggested, in the gravest possible way. “ I don’t feel quite 
cut out for the youngest of a large family. I should do 
much better in a smaller household, and I should prevent 
your ever feeling dull, you know. Kingsley, there, will 
give me a character. I keep him amused by the hour to- 
gether.” 

“ You do indeed,” was Kingsley’s answer. “ I am think- 
ing of taking you permanently into my service : you are so 
uncommonly useful.” 

“And when are you coming home, Kingsley?” asked 
Hilda. “ It does not seem right there, without you.” 

“ I ought to be moving now, I know,” he answered. . 
“ Suppose we say Monday. I must n’t wait till the cold and 
damp come. I wish this weather could go on forever. I 
suppose the house is very full? ” 

“ Yes ; but a great many are our own friends. 'They will 
be delighted to see you again.” 

“ It will be very pleasant to meet them all. Yes, I will 
be back on Monday,” said Kingsley, cheerfully, trying hard 
to hide from Hilda’s eyes his unconquerable shrinking from 
the idea of facing a house full of companv. “ Are they all 
going to stay long ? ” 

“Not all, I believe; but till the middle of October I 
expect we shall keep very full — some going, but others 
coming in their place. After that, I think, we shall be 
quieter again. I know we were saying the other day that 


304 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Phyllis must come and pay us a visit, and Ursula too, if she 
will.” 

Kingsley looked pleased at the suggestion, and after his 
visitors had gone Cecil looked up at him in his odd way and 
said : — 

“ I say, could n’t you get me included too? ” 

“ Included in what? ” 

“ In that invitation to the Cedars. What did you mean 
just now by saying you would take me into your service? 
Because I wish you would.” 

Kingsley smiled kindly at his youthful admirer. 

“I have been thinking sometimes how useful you are to 
me, youngster, bringing and^ carrying, and saving my steps. 
It occurred to me that if I get much lamer I shall be even 
more glad of an errand-boy than I am now. I dislike making 
myself a nuisance, but you ’re such a capital little fellow, 
you understand just what one wants, and know how to hold 
your tongue.” 

Cecil’s eyes sparkled and his cheek flushed ; but it was 
not his way to show enthusiasm. 

“ Well, here I am, you know, always at your service,” he 
said, “ and the more } T ou want me the better I shall like it. 
I believe you will want some one to bring and carry when 
you get into a big house full of people ; and if you do, you 
know where to come. I say, Kingsley, though,” he added, 
leaning forward with his chin in his hands, and his sharp, 
brown face full of an odd kind of gravity, “ are you going to 
get any lamer, do you think ? ” 

“ I think it is very likely, as the winter comes on,” was 
the quiet answer. 

4 k Rheumatism ? ” 

Kingsley nodded. 


AT CHANDOS CEDARS. 


305 


“ I had rheumatic fever once,” said Cecil, gravely. “ Oh, 
I say, was n’t it horrid, just ! I get a twinge now and again 
still. Why don’t they take you away to a drier place, where 
you ’d escape the cold and damp altogether?” 

“The journey is such a bugbear,” answered Kingsley; 
and a deep, strange look crept into his eyes, not lost upon 
the quick-witted Cecil. “And, then, I dislike the notion of 
being so far away from home.” 

‘ 4 But if it cured you ? ” 

“Ah, if — ” 

Cecil’s shrewd, old-fashioned face wore an indescribable 
look, as he sat gazing hard at Kingsley. The young man 
was unconscious of the intent scrutiny. He was thinking 
his own thoughts. 

“ I say, Kingsley.” 

“Well?” 

“Was that why you were so pleased about Hilda and 
Mervvn? I thought you’d be sorry, because when a girl 
gets engaged she is n’t quite the same to her brothers any 
more. Was it that made you so glad?” 

Kingsley glanced keenly at his small questioner. 

“ What?” 

“You know — what you were saying just now — about 
not getting better.” 

Kingsley was silent a moment, and then said : — 

“ I am glad because I know them both well», and I am 
very sure that they will make one another happy.” 

“ And he will be able to take care of her,” suggested 
Cecil, “ instead of 3 T ou.” 

Silence for a while, broken again by Cecil. 

“ I say, Kingsley.” 

“ Well?” 


20 


306 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ You ’ll not go back from your word ? ” 

“I’ll try not,” he answered, smiling. “ What word do 
you mean particularly ? ” 

“ About my coming to be with you if you get worse. 
You ’ll let me do that, won’t you ? ” 

“ I’ll arrange it gladly if I can, you may be sure. I like 
having you with me very much.” 

“And I like being with you better than anything else 
in the world,” said Cecil, with unusual warmth, adding pres- 
ently, “ Do you remember what I said to you one day in the 
summer about trving to do the work vou would have done 
if — ?” 

The boy broke off suddenly, eying Kingsley with a curious 
kind of wistfulness. 

“I remember very well,” said the young man. “ I have 
thought of it several times since. You haven’t thought 
better of it, then ? ” 

“I haven’t changed my mind one bit, Kingsley; and I 
talked to mother about it one day, and she said it would 
please her more than anything could do. She is very fond 
of you — every one is ; she would like me to be as much 
like you as possible. Let me be with you as much as you 
can, Kingslej" ; it will help on our plan more than anything 
else.” 

So a sort of compact was established between those two, 
and Cecil felt glad and important in the thought that he 
might be of use some day to Kingsley, though sorry for the 
cause. He had enjoyed the life at the Court, and was not 
averse to the thought of another sojourn there. 

The General came himself to take his son home, and 
thank his sister-in-law for her kind hospitality. He wanted, 
as he said, to get another look at Phyllis’s bright face, and 


AT CHAN DOS CEDARS. 


307 


tell her that he expected her to pay him a long visit very 
soon, as soon as a few of the guests made their departure 
from the Cedars ; and Phyllis smiled and blushed and prom- 
ised compliance ; and, amidst many plans and projects for 
frequent meetings, Kingsley left the Warrens for the Cedars. 

He was looking better for the change of air and scene, 
and the outdoor life he had led of late had undoubtedly done 
him good. There was a tinge of color in his face ; its ex- 
treme pallor had given place to the least suspicion of bronze ; 
and the General was ready to support his wife’s opinion, 
that a real turn for the better had taken place in Kingsley’s 
condition, and that the less he was encouraged to indulge in 
sedentary ways the better it would be for him. 

Mrs. Tempest had one personal reason for wishing Kings- 
ley to mix with the general company instead of secluding 
himself in private. She saw at once that Montague and 
Hilda were, of necessity, much occupied with their own and 
their father’s guests, and she observed that Kingsley made a 
resolute point of insisting that they should not neglect any 
of these social claims on his account. Her friends and those 
of her husband did not assimilate very readily together, 
which made the burden of entertaining them a little more 
heavy than would, under ordinary circumstances, have been 
the case, as the hostess often felt somewhat oppressively. 

But Kingsley got on very well with every one, and was 
exceedingly useful to her, all the more anxious to do her 
bidding from the undefined but strong conviction that he had 
in some unconscious way offended her. He believed, too, 
that this was in all probability the last time that he should be 
able to join in the general busy family life about him, that 
each active habit ouce given up would probably never again 
be resumed, and that thought alone gave him stimulus to 


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struggle very hard to keep up appearances, and to hide from 
others what was so patent to himself. 

He did not understand Mrs. Tempest’s attitude towards 
him, but he was too keenly sensitive not to be aware that it 
was in some measure hostile. He detected the change in her 
at once, and although he could not guess its cause, he was 
quite aware that he had given some ground for complaint, 
though he did not know how. It was not in his nature to 
harbor resentful feeling, although a covert sneer occasion- 
ally directed towards him hurt him a good deal more than 
she knew. He was only anxious to atone for the unknown 
offence he had given, and was eager in every way to follow 
out her wishes, and to do everything required of him. 

Mrs. Tempest soon found this out, and was not disposed 
to spare him. It was pleasant to her to show her friends 
how ready this step-son was to do her bidding and fulfil her 
behests. Kingsley’s gentle, courteous manners, his consid- 
eration for every one, his deference towards the mistress 
of the house, and his fund of quiet humor made him a de- 
cided favorite ; and even his lameness and delicate looks 
were considered “interesting,” and rather added to, than 
detracted from, the good-will bestowed upon him. He was 
alwaj^s ready to do anything for anybody, and Mrs. Tempest 
found it an immense convenience to have a young man in the 
house who did not go out with the sportsmen, who did not 
even join the riding parties, that attracted so many others, 
but was alw*avs at home to make himself useful to her, and 
to show himself ready to do her bidding. 

“You know if Alec could be here I would not trouble 
you with all this,” she would sometimes say to him. “ But 
he connot get away till next month, and meantime it is such 
a convenience to have some one here who can help to enter- 


AT CHAN DOS CEDARS. 


309 


tain people. Time hangs so heavy on a dull afternoon like 
this.” 

Sometimes it was : — 

“ Now, could you manage a row on the lake? The ladies 
are so anxious to see the view of the house from the water. 
You need not row, but your presence will give them confi- 
dence, and I shall know they will be safe with you.” 

Or, again : — , 

“ Would you mind superintending a game of bowls in the 
bowling alley? I don’t know the rules, and am little use 
there. You need not play, but you can do the honors, you 
know.” 

And so in one way or another Kingsley found his time 
and strength called day by day into requisition by Mrs. 
Tempest, and he gave both with the utmost willingness, glad 
to feel himself still of use in the house, eager to add to the 
amusement of the guests, and pleased to think he had suc- 
ceeded in making the time pass more quickly to others, even 
at the cost of added pain and weariness to himself. 

He was very careful to show no traces of the fatigue he 
often felt. He would keep out of the wa} T of his brother and 
sister if he thought that his looks would betray him ; but he 
had so learned to command his face that it was difficult for 
any one to detect when he was in more pain than usual, and 
he never spoke of the exertions required of him by Mrs. 
Tempest, or the difficulty he sometimes experienced in carry- 
ing out her requests. Montague was of necessity out almost 
all day long with the different shooting parties. The weather 
was fine, game abundant, and the covers were in capital con- 
dition. There seemed no danger of the zeal of the sportsmen 
abating, and the eldest son of the house was in constant 
requisition to take the lead, and see to the order of the day. 


310 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Hilda, on her side, was almost equally occupied, for the 
brilliancy of the weather made riding and driving parties 
matters of almost daily occurrence, and she could hardly 
avoid being of the number to go to any given destination. 
Far rather would she have stayed at home with Kingsley, 
but he would not hear of her doing so, and reminded her of 
duties she owed to her friends and neighbors. 

A good deal of time and thought too were engrossed 
by Mervyn ; and Hilda, in the first flush of love and happi- 
ness, could not but see everything somewhat couleur de rose. 
Moreover, her thoughts began to be occupied to some extent 
with her other brother ; for, when the General put in^o effect 
his “ threat.” of claiming Phyllis for a three months’ visit 
to the Cedars, it became very patent to more than one pair 
of eyes that nobody was better pleased by this arrangement 
than Montague. 

September was waning by this time. Many of the guests 
had left, and unlimited shooting had begun to satiate even 
the most ardent sportsmen. The pheasants were still unat- 
tainable, and for about a week, and, as it chanced, a week of 
very wet weather, the party was confined almost entirely to 
the house, and Phyllis found that she had come in for a 
very lively instead of a rather dull time. 

Phyllis was one of those happily constituted people who 
can readily adapt themselves to their surroundings. She had 
been happy with her great-aunts in the dull life she had led 
with them, happier still with her merry cousins at the War- 
rens, and, as she very soon began to discover, she was 
happiest of all at the Cedars, although she was half 
ashamed to admit as much even to herself, lest it should 
seem disloyal to those she had loved the first. 

Phyllis had developed rapidly during these past months ; 


AT CH ANDOS CEDARS. 


311 


she had awakened from her long childhood and had grown 
into womanhood almost before she realized any change in 
herself. She had learned a great many lessons in her new 
home. She had been aroused by the keen intellects and 
energies of those about her into a knowledge of earnest 
purposes of life hitherto unsuspected by her. She listened 
with the greatest interest when Ursula talked gravely of the 
future ; she pictured her cousin’s life of unselfish work, and 
felt that there was something grand and beautiful in any 
toil taken up for the benefit of suffering humanity. She 
talked often to the aunt, who seemed almost like a mother 
to her, of the thoughts and feelings rising within her, and 
the old vague yearnings after truth and holiness were grow- 
ing brighter and clearer every month that passed. There 
had always been something sweet and winning about Phyllis, 
but the charm she exercised over those about her was 
deepening day by day. The possibilities expressed in her 
clear gray eyes and sensitive lips were maturing into 
beautiful realities. 

Phyllis was certainly a great addition in the house. 
Mrs. Tempest was fond of her ; the General treated her 
like his own child, and his sons and daughter combined 
with him to try to make her feel the Cedars a second 
home. 

Montague took her under his especial care, for Hilda 
was too much occupied to do very much towards her enter- 
tainment. He took her over the houses and taught her all 
he knew about the flowers, and got up riding parties when- 
ever the weather cleared, always constituting himself her 
special escort. 

Hilda and Kingsley often exchanged smiles as they 
observed their brother’s absorption in the “little cousin”; 


312 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


and the General, not unmindful himself of the possible com 
sequence of it all, watched the progress of events with a 
a quiet sense of satisfaction. 

Phyllis was very fond of Kingsley. She was very sorry 
for him, for his lameness and weakness. She contrasted 
his feebleness with Montague’s strong vitality and buoyant 
strength, and was struck day by day with his extreme 
patience and brightness under a trouble that would have 
soured or depressed many less evenly balanced natures. 

She liked to talk to him, or to play or sing to him if by 
chance she found him alone, as she sometimes did in one 
of the drawing-rooms at dusk 

Kingsley was always very good company. He had a 
happy knack of making his talk interesting to his hearers ; 
and to Phyllis he liked to recall stories of his own boyhood 
and Montague’s, telling her of his brother’s prowess, his 
generosity and kindliness, to all of which Phyllis listened 
with deep attention, a little flush on her cheeks and a light 
in her eyes, quite content to sit a silent listener so long as 
Kingsley was willing to talk on that theme. 

She obtained in this way a better idea than she might 
otherwise have done of the unusually deep tie of love that 
bound these two brothers together. Nothing could exceed 
the quiet depth of feeling with which each spoke of the 
other, and Phyllis looked back with wonder to the days 
when she had believed that, because these cousins of hers 
lived in a. large house and were fastidious and exclusive in 
their ways, they were therefore cold and heartless, wanting 
altogether in the loving warmth that seemed to her a neces- 
sary element in life. 

Phyllis’s ideas, like Ursula’s, had widened and developed 
of late, and she was learning the lesson experience teaches, 


AT CHANDOS CEDARS. 


313 


that every phase of life has its own good side, and that 
hard and fast lines of demarcation can never be adhered 
to. Human nature is much the same all the world over. 
It is, after all, more in externals that the differences lie. 

She liked to talk to Kingsley of some of the thoughts 
and feelings in her mind ; and he was so kind and so gentle 
that it was easy to say to him what she might not have 
expressed without difficutly to another. He encouraged her 
to talk to him freely, and sometimes the conversation would 
drift into a serious vein, in which he obtained glimpses of 
a deeper and truer nature beneath the surface, and every- 
thing he saw gave him increased satisfaction and confi- 
dence. He had his brother’s welfare and happiness deeply 
at heart, and he could not now entirely dissociate Mon- 
tague’s future from that of Phyllis. 

One day the announcement he had been half expecting 
was unexpectedly made. 

Kingsley was alone in the library with a book, the fine, 
clear brightness of the afternoon having tempted every one 
else out of doors, when ’ his solitude was invaded a good 
deal before he anticipated b}* Montague and Phyllis, who 
seemed to have given the slip to the rest of the party, and 
to have turned up at home long before the others. 

‘‘Here he is,” said Montague’s cheery voice. “You 
know he is to have the first right to congratulate me. 
Come, Phyllis, I know you are not afraid of Kingsley. 
King, have you room in your affections for another sister, 
for I have one here to offer you?” and, with a happy 
light in his eyes and a proud, glad smile upon his lips, 
Montague took Phyllis’s hand and led her forward. 

Kingsley stood up and held out both of his ; an answer- 
ing gladness was in his face. 


314 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“Phyllis,” he said, and touched her brow with his 
lips, “ I am so glad, yes, very glad indeed ! ” and, turning 
to his brother, he wrung his hand warmly. 

“I wish you joy, old fellow ! I wish you joy with all my 
heart ! I do congratulate you most sincerely. I think I may 
congratulate you both.” 

Phyllis’s answer was a sweet, shy smile, and she slipped 
noiselessly away, leaving the brothers together. 

Montague’s face, in its loving pride and gladness, was 
a pleasant sight for his brother’s eyes. Kingsley regarded 
him smilingly as he slowly resumed his seat ; he liked to 
see that look upon his face, which brought out all its 
manliness and gentleness in a new light and with a new 
meaning. 

“ So you have gone and done it, Montague? ” 

Montague threw back his head and looked straight at his 
brother, his eyes shining very resolutely. 

“ Yes ; I have done for myself this time, have n’t I? Is 
it a surprise to you ? ” 

“Not a surprise exactly, but a very great pleasure.” 

“I felt sure of that. No one could help loving her. 
I knew it would please you all. The General will be liapp3 r 
now. He has always set his heart on turning me into a 
Benedict.” 

The brothers smiled, and a short silence fell between 
them. Montague spoke first, and more gravely : — 

“ It is a revelation to me, this kind of love ; it ought to 
make a better man of me, if anything could — the love of a 
pure, good woman.” 

Kingsley made a sign of assent. He knew his brother’s 
nature, and was deeply glad that he had found in Phyllis 
just that element of devotional love that was all he needed 


AT CHANDOS CEDARS. 


315 


to lead him in the right path. He had no fears now but 
that they would tread it in future together. 

“ I will be worthy of her,” said Montague, as if he read 
something of the thoughts in Kingsley’s mind ; then, after 
a long pause, he added, with an affectionate glance at his 
brother, “ The only trouble in all this is the contrast my 
life presents with yours. It seems as if everything good 
fell to my share — wife, home, all that makes life sweet, 
whilst yours is all uncertainty still.” 

“ Not so very uncertain, after all,” he answered, with a 
smile that disguised the purport of the words. “Besides, 
can I not be happy in your happiness? Believe me, I 
want to change with nobody. I have my own full share 
of enjoyment. Sometimes I think the best of everything 
comes to me. I wish you joy with all my heart, Montague ; 
if you are as good a husband as you have been a brother, 
Phyllis will be a happy woman.” 

Montague wrung his brother’s hand, and departed in 
search of his betrothed. He did not like Phyllis out of his 
sight for long. 

“It is so good of you to take me for a sister,” said 
Phyllis that night, softly, to Kingsley, under cover of 
Hilda’s music. “ I am so rich in relations now, I do not 
know how to be happy enough. Hilda is just as good as 
you are. I used to think brothers and sisters might be 
jealous of any one coming in between them.” 

“You manage better than that, you see, Phyllis ; -you 
do not seem to come between us and Montague, except to 
draw us all closer together.” He looked at her earnestly for 
a moment, and then added, gently, “Be very good to him 
always, Phyllis, and make him happy. I am sure you can 
do it — love can do everything in some hands.” 



CHAPTER XXIII. 


HIRS. TEMrEST. 


ONTAGUE’S engagement seemed very satis- 

factory to all concerned. The General was 

pleased ; his brother cordially acquiesced ; a 
new bond was formed between the cousins, who held a 
joint proprietorship over Phyllis ; and if Mrs. Tempest 
sighed to herself as she saw the matrimonial prizes slipping 
out of the reach of her own children, at least she had the 
good taste to conceal any regrets she might feel, and to 
join with cordiality in the general good-will and congratu- 
lation. 

Ursula heard the news with most gravity. She had grown 
fond of Phyllis, and she knew that her influence had had 
some weight in moulding and forming her character. 
Ursula’s thoughtfulness had rather increased than dimin- 
ished of late, despite the fuller satisfaction she began to 
feel in the prospect of wider interests and a deeper purpose 
in life ; and when she met Phyllis first, after the announce- 
ment of the engagement, she made no attempt at conven- 
tional congratulation, but looked at her with an earnest 
gravity that expressed a good deal of affection and interest, 
and she said, slowly and thoughtfully : — 

“ You will not let them make merely a fine lady of you, 
Phyllis ? ” 

[ 316 ] 


Mrs. t em pest. 


317 


“ What do you mean by a fine lady, Ursula?” 

“ I mean something I should not like to see you, — selfish, 
self-indulgent, frivolous. Have you never known rich, pros- 
perous people who have grown to be all that? ” 

Phyllis shook her head. 

u I know so few people. I do not think I have. None 
of the Tempests at the Cedars are like that, Ursula.” 

44 No ; I know that now. Perhaps after all it is not wealth 
that makes selfishness or idleness, only it develops them 
more rapidly if the seeds are there. I think you will be 
very happy, Phyllis, — I hope you will; but you won’t let 
happiness spoil you, will you? You won’t forget that life 
has a purpose beyond that of obtaining ease and happiness ? ” 

“I will try not,” answered Phyllis, with simple, sweet 
humility. 44 1 think every life can be useful, though some 
are brighter and happier than others. You must always be 
my friend, Ursula, and tell me if I am growing spoiled. You 
have taught me so many things since I came here.” 

44 1 have learned a great many myself,” answered Ursula, 
with her grave smile. 44 You must not look up to me for 
instruction, Phyllis. Sometimes I think I have made more 
blunders than anybody. It is not for me to talk of teaching 
any one. I often feel as if I had everything to learn myself ; 
but I feel things, — I cannot always tell whether I am right 
or wrong, — but I feel things in my heart. I think nothing 
is so sad as a wasted life, — a life that seems to have been 
passed without doing any good to other people, without mak- 
ing a mark, however small, by which to be remembered.” 

Phyllis went away grave and preoccupied from her talk 
with Ursula, but not on that account less happy. She was 
quite as wishful as her cousin could be that her life should 
be spent to some good purpose, none the less so when it 


318 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


seemed to be opening out so brightly before her. She hac 
her own thoughts, aspirations, and ideals, and if they die 
not involve quite the same labor and self-denial as Ursula’s 
at least they were equally sincere. 

But this was not quite the time to indulge solitary musings 
October brought a new influx of guests to the Cedars, ant 
very gay times ensued for all concerned. Alec Edgeler camt 
down early in the month on his long leave, and made i 
decided addition to the party. He was popular with all. 
was a capital shot, and was always ready to throw himsell 
with zeal into everything going on, — nothing came amiss tc 
him ; he was delighted with the Cedars and the life there 
and was as full of spirit and fun as a scliool-boy. 

His advent was an undoubted relief to Kingsley, who was 
able to retire more into the background now that Mrs. Tem- 
pest’s son had come to help in the enlivenment of her guests. 
Kingsley was growing lamer and weaker every day, anc 
hardly knew how to keep about ; but he did his utmost noi 
to give in before he was obliged to do so, all the more fron 
the vague consciousness that his step-mother relied upon his 
services, and was vexed if they were not at her disposal. 

Mrs. Tempest was ^ good deal worried just now aboul 
Venice. She did not understand the girl’s pale looks and 
want of animation. She felt she was beyond her, and she 
did not know whither it all tended ; she was unhappy and 
irritable, made more so by the remarks she sometimes heard 
about Venice’s loss of good looks, and it was as much this 
absorption and irritability as anything else that made hei 
harsh and exacting towards Kingsley, to whose influence she 
had attributed the first change of attitude in her daughter. 

Kingsley had no idea in what way he had offended, and 
did his utmost to fulfil every unspoken wish on her part ; but 


MES. TEMPEST. 


319 


he overdid things in trying to please her, and that, together 
with the chill autumn damp, was altogether too much for 
him, and he was obliged to take to his room, and was barely 
able to leave his bed. 

It was Kenrick who took upon himself at this juncture to 
speak his mind to Mrs. Tempest. He told her in plain terms 
that her step-son would hardly outlive the year ; that Kingsley 
knew this himself very well, had suspected it a long time, 
and that in due course every one else must see what was 
patent enough to experienced eyes ; but meantime he con- 
sidered it right that somebody in authority should know the 
plain truth, and see that no more attempts were made to urge 
him to exertions for which he was totally unfit. 

Mrs. Tempest was deeply startled and shocked. She had 
not the least idea that there was anything seriously wrong 
with Kingsley, and now she was told that he was dying, — 
absolutely dying, and that he knew it himself. Perhaps that 
was the most terrible thought of all, that he should know it, 
— he who went about with a smile on his face, who was 
ready to enter into all that went on with quiet zest and good- 
will, never spoke of himself or seemed absorbed by private 
cares, that he should be dying and be aware of the fact, — it 
seemed unspeakably terrible to her. 

After that revelation her whole attitude of mind changed 
towards him. All that was best in her nature was stirred to 
its depths. New thoughts and feelings awoke within her, 
mingled with a strange sense of unsatisfied longing altogether 
unknown before. 

Sometimes when she visited him in the seclusion of his 
own room, always finding him cheerful, and bright, and 
uncomplaining, she would look at him witli a deep sense of 
wonder, almost of awe, questioning within herself whethei 


320 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


or not it could be true that he really knew the terrible 
truth. 

Once she ventured to say something of the kind, in 
broken, faltering tones. He looked at her, smiling. 

u Oh, yes, I know. I have known a long time now. I 
had my mother’s case before me as a sort of guide, you see. 
You must not be troubled about it. I am often glad it is 
not to be lifelong lameness. My life has been very happy, — 
happier perhaps for being short.” 

She could not understand. The thought of death was 
terrible to her ; she shuddered instinctively. 

“ If I had only known ! ” she said. 

“ What then? ” 

“I should have been different towards you, Kingsley”; 
and there was remorse in e} 7 es and voice. 

“You have always been very kind.” 

“ No, I have not. I have been suspicious and irritable. 
I have been exacting and hard-hearted, and you must know 
it quite well.” 

Kingsley looked rather amused. 

“ I thought I was the offending party. I know there has 
been something. I believe the fault is mine. Indeed, Mrs. 
Tempest, if I have annoyed you in any way I tender my 
humble apology. I have always been afraid that all the 
attention I had when I was ill was inclined to make me selfish 
and blundering.” 

Mrs. Tempest shook her head. She did not attempt to 
explain matters, but sat very still and thoughtful, her head 
resting on her hand, whilst the past year seemed to rise up 
in review before her with a new light shed upon it. 

“Is there anything I can do for you, Kingsley?” she 
asked, presently. 


MRS. TEMPEST. 


321 


4 * Will you let me have Cecil here, to bring and carry for 
me, now that I seem likely to be tied to my sofa? I half 
promised he should come if I wanted somebody ; he would 
like it, and it would be a pleasure to me to have him. Can 
you make room for him without much trouble ? He ’ll spend 
most of his time with me.” 

Of course Mrs. Tempest agreed at once, smiling a little 
as she asked, “ Is there nothing more you want, Kingsley?” 
And he answered, promptly, “No, thank } 7 ou ; I think I 
have everything I wish given me directly.” 

Cecil came the next day, proud and important, and de- 
lighted with the prospect of staying with Kingsley, though 
he was sorry enough for the cause, and looked gravely at 
the young man on the sofa, shaking his head sedately. 

“ I say, I ’m afraid you are getting bad.” 

“ If I were not, what would be the good of sending for 
a resident M. D., eh? ” questioned Kingsley, with a twinkle 
in his eye. “Your business and mine, youngster, is to 
keep that to ourselves, and not let it worry other people. 
You know your part of the bargain ; mind you stick to it.” 

Cecil nodded sagely. 

“All right, never fear. I’m safe enough. Don’t you 
bother to keep up appearances before me. I won’t observe 
an} T thing I ’m not meant to see.” 

Kingsley could not help laughing at the quaint solem- 
nity of the boy. Cecil always entertained and interested 
him, and he made his way with every one with amazing ease 
and rapidity. He brought out a whole budget of news with 
which to amuse Kingsley while every one else was at dinner, 
and those two had quite a merry time of it over the meal 
that was provided for them in the seclusion of their own 
apartment. 


21 


322 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“I say, how long are you going to stay mewed up in 
this one room?” asked Cecil, presently. 

“ I don’t know, I’m sure. Colquhoun won’t hear of my 
trying to walk now, and I ’m not sure whether I could if he 
wished it.” 

“ I should think not, indeed ; but you could be wheeled 
somewhere else, surely ? ” 

“ I don’t know; the rooms are such a long way off, and 
there are two steps down to the hall, you know. These 
steps have been my bugbear for a long time, and I ’m get- 
ting cowardly about a jar. Besides, don’t you know, one 
so dislikes to make a bother, and to be an object of univer- 
sal compassion ; and if there ’s a noise or anything, I can’t 
always stand it - ; and then how to get back is a puzzle, 
without making a fuss. I ’m afraid I ’m booked here for a 
spell, so we must just make the best of it.” 

Cecil’s eyes were twinkling with amusement. He en- 
joyed having this next piece of intelligence to break to 
Kingsley. 

“ What about that west room of yours, next door?” 

“Mrs. Tempest’s studio, you mean? Oh, that is her 
special sanctum, and she has taken a lot of trouble about 
it. We can’t invade her rights there.” 

“Dear me, how very odd people are!” remarked Cecil, 
gravely. “It is only an hour ago that Mrs. Tempest was 
herself showing me round that very room, explaining to me 
how it had once been yours, and how it had been restored 
now to you, and put just as you used to have it, ready 
for your occupation, as soon as you were ready for it. 
She has left some of her possessions, — the piano, which 
she thought you might like to retain, one or two good 
pictures she knew you admired, and the hangings over the 


MRS. TEMPEST. 


323 


door to keep out all draughts. You can’t think how 
cosey and comfortable it looks ; and wh}* you should not be 
wheeled in to-morrow I cannot see. There will be no jars 
along the smooth boards, and the doors are not six paces 
apart.” 

Kingsley was looking at Cecil with an astonishment that 
fully satisfied that young man as to the effect his words pro- 
duced. 

“ Is that really so? ” he asked. 

“ To be sure. I had it from her own lips ; and she wished 
me to tell you.” 

“How very good of her!” said Kingsley. “My dear 
old room ! how I shall enjoy the view from the window 
again ! There are no sunsets an}’where like those over the 
beech and pine woods, with the empty sky and the sea 
beyond.” 

He lay gazing into the fire, with a smile on his lips and a 
dreamy light in his eyes, and Cecil sat watching him intently, 
his odd, slirewd-looking face resting upon his hands, face and 
attitude alike indicative of great absorption in his subject of 
study. 

Next day saw Kingsley established in his old quarters, 
hung on the wide couch, in the shadowy corner by the fire, 
where he could look out over the sweeping expanse of park, 
and watch the sunset glory in the sky. It was b} T his own 
special wish that Mrs. Tempest visited him alone at this hour. 
He had not seen her since their interview two days ago, and 
yet he felt that a bond had been established between them 
that had brought them nearer together, and there was more 
than one thing he wanted to say to her when he could feel 
secure from interruption. 

“It is so very good of you to give up your studio to 


324 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


me,” he said. “ I feel quite ashamed of robbing you like 
this, especially after all the pains and trouble you had taken 
over it.” 

“ My dear boy, you must not speak so. I am only sorry 
that I ever took it from you at all. Believe me, Kingsley, I 
should never have done it had I known the truth.” 

“ Ah, but it was a real kindness to do so, I assure you,” 
he answered, with one of his bright smiles. “ It stirred me 
up out of my lazy ways, and made me join the outside party 
much more than, perhaps, I should have done, and that was 
a pleasure in itself. And then you don’t know how I enjoy 
getting back here again. It is worth being deprived of a 
luxury for a time in order to enjoy it again afterwards. 
And you have left behind some of your best treasures. 
Indeed, you have made it up to me with compound in- 
terest.” 

His eyes rested upon one or two very charming pictures 
that still hung upon the walls, yet they turned as if by in- 
stinct to the old engraving that still retained its former 
position and had never been moved awa}- — the Man of 
Sorrows, with the light about His head, standing at the 
fast- closed door. 

Mrs. Tempest followed the direction of Ins glance. 

“ I believe you like that the best, after all, Kingsley,” 
she said, softly. 

“ It is an old friend,” he answered, without turning his 
eyes away. “ It his been my companion through so many 
long hours. It says a great deal to me.” 

Mrs. Tempest was silent. Her eyes studied his face 
intently, many expressions passing over her own as she did 
so. 

“ Kingsley,” she said, presently, in a low voice full of 


MRS. TEMPEST. 


325 


feeling, “ you often make me wish that I could change 
places with you.” 

“With me?” 

“Yes, with you. I sometimes feel as if I would gladly 
give up all I value most, all I have been struggling to attain, 
all I have spent my life in striving after, for one tithe of that 
peace and confidence that seem so easy to you ” 

He did not answer, but looked at her very intently with a 
questioning gravity in his eyes. Words seemed to tremble 
upon his lips, yet they remained unspoken until she asked, 
gently : — 

“ What is it, Kingsley? ” 

Then he smiled suddenly, but with something of depre- 
cation in his glance. 

“ Mrs. Tempest,” he said, “ there is something I very 
much want to say to you, but I do not know if I am justified 
in doing so ; it will seem such unwarrantable interference on 
my part.” 

“ Do not be afraid,” said Mrs. Tempest : “a sick man is 
always privileged, you know. I think your interference in 
any matter can only bring good with it.” 

Kingsley clasped his hands behind his head in his old 
meditative fashion. He looked across the sweep of park, 
from which the autumn mist was rising, away to the saffron 
glow in the sky beyond. It seemed as if something of the 
sunset light rested upon his pale face. 

“ Mrs. Tempest,” he began, after a pause, “ I want to 
talk to you about Venice.” 

If Mrs. Tempest was surprised at this opening, she showed 
no sign of being so ; she only said, quietly : — 

“ Well, Kingsley, what about Venice? ” 

“ I am very fond of her,” he said. “ She has interested 


326 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


me very much from the first, and -she has alwa} T s been very 
kind to me ; but she is not happy, — she has confessed as 
much to me, — and it troubles me.” 

He paused, but as there was no response on his listeners 
part he presently continued speaking. 

“ She has given me a clew to her trouble at last. It is 
that she is certain — so she says, at least — that it will be 
impossible for her ever to live the kind of life that would 
satisfy herself without acting in direct opposition to your 
wishes ; and as she cannot bring herself to set those wishes 
at defiance, she must be content to go on in the old 4 hol- 
low * way, as she calls it, eating out her heart in fruitless 
longings after what she feels to be higher and better 
things.” 

Still no reply from Mrs. Tempest. Kingsley continued, in 
the same quiet way : — 

“ I do not altogether understand Venice’s state of mind. 
It does not seem to me that any life need to be hollow or use- 
less, be its circumstances what they may ; but she says I do 
not know what I am talking about, and, after that, you know 
argument is useless. Life is, after all, very much what we 
make it, and we cannot always help our own convictions or 
conquer them, however unreasonable they may appear to 
others. Venice is very much in earnest, that is plain enough. 
I have known a good deal of her thoughts and feelings for 
some time ; but about ten days ago I made a discovery that 
gave me a better clew to the cause of many of them than I 
had ever possessed before.” 

Mrs. Tempest was looking at him fixedly, but still she 
did not speak. 

“You remember that Venice and Kenrick met in Scot- 
land?” 


MRS. TEMPEST. 


327 


Mrs. Tempest made a sign of assent. 

“Kenrick came back to the Warrens soon afterwards. 
I fancied that he was changed in some way, and when I saw 
Venice I thought her changed too. I saw them sometimes 
together. It seemed to me that some kind of an under- 
standing existed between them. I do not mean an under- 
standing in the sense of an engagement of any kind, but I 
fancied that something must have passed between them that 
had given them a clearer insight into each other’s minds and 
characters than anything they had had before. I cannot 
easily express my meaning, but once, when a chance pre- 
sented itself, I taxed Kenrick with it, and he did not attempt 
to deny it. He told me frankly that he loved your daughter, 
but that until latterly he had never allowed himself to think 
seriously of her, feeling that it would be impossible for one 
brought up as she had been to share the hard and unbeauti- 
ful life that he had marked down for himself, and for which 
he felt himself adapted. Now, however, from the way in 
which she spoke once, he began to think this belief un- 
grounded, began to hope that ease and luxury and idleness 
were not necessary to her, were not even congenial ; that 
she had aspirations not entirely unlike his own, and was in 
no ways wedded to the sort of life to which she had been 
brought up. That being so, he had tried to approach the 
subject so near to his heart, but had been baffled by her 
manner. He had not thought her indifferent to him, but he 
had been puzzled and silenced by her enigmatical answers. 
He made out that some obstacle stood in his way, but that 
the obstacle wms not of her making ; indeed, that it troubled 
her as much as it could trouble him. After that he said no 
more ; the sort of mutual understanding I had noticed had 
been arrived at, yet he was in total uncertainty as to the 


328 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


future ; he only felt assured that she was not indifferent. 1 
was convinced of this myself, and the next day I took the 
unwarrantable liberty of speaking to Venice myself.’’ 

He paused and looked at Mrs. Tempest, but as she sat 
with her back to the failing light he could not see the ex- 
pression of her face. 

“ People are very good to me,” continued Kingsley; 
“ they let me say just what I like. Venice was not angry 
with me for taking it upon myself to meddle with her con- 
cerns. She did not say very much, but what she did say 
gave me the key to the whole situation. She was certain 
that you would never give your consent to her marriage with 
a*young doctor whose prospects were not more brilliant than 
Kenrick’s are, and therefore she had resolved to think no 
more about it. She told me with a good deal of quiet sor- 
row that she had disappointed you several times before in 
some of the plans you had made for her future happiness, 
and that in all probability she might have to disappoint you 
many times more. She did not think it in the least probable 
that she should ever marry a husband such as you would 
select for her, and, therefore, the least she could do as an 
atonement for the pain she must give would be t?o refrain 
from a marriage that she was certain you would disapprove. 
She spoke with a good deal of feeling about her wish to be 
obedient as far as was possible. You know that Venice is 
not easy to understand, she makes the very worst of herself 
always ; but I think if you had heard the way she spoke 
that day you would never doubt that it was her real wish to 
do right, and to act dutifully towards you.” 

“Well?” said Mrs. Tempest, after a pause which neither 
seemed disposed to break. 

“Well, I wanted to tell you this,” he answered, with an 


MRS. TEMPEST. 


329 


inflexion in his voice at once appealing and reflective, u be- 
cause I am quite certain that your real wish — deeper than 
anything else — is to secure Venice’s real welfare and happi- 
ness, and because I am very fond of her myself, and think 
very highly of my cousin Kenrick. He has his way to make 
in life, I know ; but he comes of a very clever family, and 
his own abilities are much above the average. Colquhoun 
tells me he is certain to rise in his profession, and may in 
time become a leading man.” 

After a pause Mrs. Tempest spoke, with something of 
reproachful sadness in her tone. 

“ Still you show that you think me quite incapable of 
acting the part of a loving mother onh T wishful for her child’s 
happiness. You must hold out a worldly inducement as 
well. You have read me only too truly, Kingsley, yet 
somehow it is hard to have it brought home to one like that 
— and by you.” 

He held out his hand quickly. 

“ Forgive me,” he said, quickly ; “ indeed I did not mean 
that. A little while ago — before I knew you better — I 
might have thought it, but not now. I should be ungrateful 
indeed if I did.” 

“ It is all true, Kingsley, only too true,” answered Mrs. 
Tempest, sadly. “ I huve been a scheming, ambitious 
woman all my life, for myself and for my children, thinking 
of nothing but their worldly advancement and mine. No 
wonder Venice called her life hollow. I know well what she 
means, if you do not. I never understood her views of life 
until I was brought face to face with the thought of death, 
and the end that comes to all our dreams in face of the last 
enemy. Kingsley, if I could feel that, when my turn came 
to die, I could lay down my life with that calm assurance 


330 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


and peace that I trace in every line of your face and in every 
tone of your voice, I, too, would gladly lay aside every am- 
bitious plan, every treasured scheme, that has ever entered 
my mind. When I look at you, when I think what your life 
has been, what your thoughts have been all these months 
that I have known you, a strange feeling comes over me, — I 
cannot express it, — as if nothing in the world were worth a 
thought or a care. I must die some day — terrible as it 
seems to think of such a thing now. I, too, shall have 
to die at last. Can you not tell me the secret of your 
peace ? ” 

Kingsley’s eyes turned again towards his picture. 

“ I have no secret,” he answered, simply ; and she read 
more of that so-called secret in his eyes than she could ever 
do from words of his. 

u Kingsle} T ,” she said, u I shall not always think as I do 
now. You awaken feelings in me that sleep for the most part 
unknown and unsuspected. Perhaps when you are gone they 
will slumber again ; I have no confidence in myself, at least 
in that i better self ’ that you have helped to stir into life. 
And, lest this should be so, 1 make you here a solemn promise, 
— promises made to the dying, I think, are seldom broken, — 
a solemn promise never to stand in the way of Venice’s hap- 
piness, to give her full liberty to choose for herself with- 
out let or hindrance, and to put no obstacle in her way 
if she elects to lead a more unselfish and unworldly life than 
her mother has led before her. I have been a successful but 
not a happy woman : she shall have the chance of being 
happy, even though the world may sneer at the manner in 
which she accepts her happiness. After all, perhaps she 
will have chosen the better part — the part that will not be 
taken from her. I have always just missed that,” 


MRS. TEMPEST. 


331 


“ I think not,” said Kingsley, in a very low voice. “ I 
think you are like V enice in that — you only see the evil in 
yourself, not the good.” 

“ There is so little good to see sometimes,” was the rather 
bitter answer. 

“Indeed, we might all say that,” answered Kingsley, 
earnestly ; “ but then, after all, it is not in ourselves that we 
have to find the good.” He paused awhile, smiling a little to 
himself, and then went on : “ Who is it said once that the 
way to heaven was found in unselfish acts of love towards 
one another? If that is so, Mrs. Tempest, j t ou have begun 
to find it already.” 

“ And } 7 ou are very far upon the road,” she answered, the 
strained look upon her face merging in one much more 
tender, giving an unusual sweetness to the rather hard, 
handsome features. “ I see, Kingsley, that you will not 
preach to me, will not talk to me as I have tried to make 
you ; but after all some silence is more eloquent than any 
sermon, and actions speak louder than w r ords. Be my friend 
as long as you are left us, and lead me, if you can, a little 
way along the path you are treading. I am very weak, very 
changeable, very prone to falter and turn back, but help me 
all you can. I do not want to feel that when the time comes 
to say ‘ good by ’ it will be a last farewell between you 
and me.” 

Kingsley did not answer this appeal, made in a gentle, 
pleading way, far more touching than any passionate out- 
break could have been, save by holding out his hand, which 
was clasped between both of hers, whilst their eyes met in 
a look that said a great deal on both sides. 

Presently Mrs. Tempest rose and bent over him, pressing 
a kiss — her first kiss — upon his brow. 


332 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“We understand each other now, I think, Kingsley. 
You will spare for me a little of that love in which you are 
so rich? 

His smile was his answer ; and Mrs. Tempest, in a 
strangely softened mood, went away to find her daughter. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

FORESHADOWING. 

W HEN the first weeks of October had passed, 
and the Cedars had emptied itself of many 
of its guests, Ursula and Beryl came from 
the Warrens to pay the visit that had been half promised for 
some time ; and the boys, made welcome to come and go at 
will, spent much of their time in the gay family party assem- 
bled under the General’s hospitable roof. 

Kenrick’s engagement to Venice was the cause of a good 
deal of astonishment to his own family, who had hardly 
even guessed at the tenor of his feelings ; but Mrs. Tem- 
pest’s quiet approval and ready consent were the greatest 
puzzle of all, for it was an understood thing amongst them 
that she was an ambitious, scheming woman, who was as 
anxious to see her children make good marriages as she had 
been to obtain a handsome establishment for herself. Ursula 
felt as if another of her theories had been somewhat rudely 
shaken when Mrs. Tempest kissed her with unusual gentle- 
ness, saying : — 

“It is such a comfort to me to think that you are going 
to share your brother’s home. Venice will not be quite 
alone in the life that seems to me sufficiently dreary. At 
least she will have you in her husband’s absence. It is a 
source of great pleasure to me.” 


[ 333 ] 


334 


JOINT GUARDIANS* 


Ursula raised her grave eyes, answering quietly, “I am 
very glad you feel so. Kenrick said I was to come all the 
same; but — but I thought that perhaps Venice might not 
like it. I have been preparing to give it up if it was neces- 
sary.” 

“You had better go and see Venice, and hear what she 
has to say,” was Mrs. Tempest’s answer. 

Venice’s reception of Ursula was different from anything 
she had before received at her hands. She had liked, with- 
out feeling she understood, her future sister-in-law ; but 
when Venice came swiftly into her room as she was stand- 
ing beside the fire, and clasped her arms suddenly about her 
neck, she felt that a new and very warm bond had been 
established between them. 

“Ursula,” said Venice, in quick, eager tones, “next to 
the happiness of Kenrick’s love is the thought that you will 
be my sister, and your mother my mother too. You will 
help me, will you not, to make our home something like 
what she has made hers? — so full of love and of useful 
purpose, so overflowing with — ” Venice broke off suddenly, 
and turned away with a little laugh. “ I don’t know how to 
say things, but I feel them. I felt it the very first moment 
I entered the Warrens. It was a home, and she was a 
mother. You don’t understand, of course. You have 
grown up with it all. You can never know what a revelation 
she was — it was — you all were to me.” 

Ursula’s heart warmed towards any one who so appre- 
ciated her own sweet mother. 

“Did you feel that, Venice? I think I know a little 
what you mean. Yes, it is all the mother’s doing. Home 
would not be home without her.” 

“ Yet you are going to leave it ! ” 


FORESHADOWING. 


335 


Ursula raised her eves and looked steadily at Venice. “1 
was going to leave it, yes. Mother understands everything, 
and she thought it right. Whether I go now depends upon 
you.” 

“ Upon me?” 

“ Yes ; you know Kenrick will not need me now to keep 
his house for him. He will have you, and it is quite natural, 
everybod} r knows, that when people are married they like to 
be alone together ; I don’t expect you to say so straight 
out to me, but I want to tell you that I sha’n’t be the least 
vexed — I shall quite understand — if Kenrick tells me some 
day that he will not want me in London.” 

Venice was looking away into the fire. 

“You are ready to give up your work as quietly as 
that?” 

Ursula paused a moment and then said : — 

“ I shall find some more if that is not practicable. I 
think when we are in earnest some way always opens out 
before us. I think it is best sometimes to wait and watch, 
not to be too much bent on our own way, even if that way 
seems right and good.” 

“ I know what you mean,” answered Venice, thoughtfully. 
“ I think you are quite right.” She laid her hand upon 
Ursula’s shoulder and looked straight into her eyes. “ Ken- 
rick will never tell you that ; he will never tell you that we 
do not want you in London. It will never be true. We do 
want you. You are not the kind of sister or sister-in-law 
who would ever come between a man and his wife ; do you 
think we do not know that much? and we both want you, we 
both feel that life will be more happy and complete because 
you share it with us.” 

Ursula was touched and gratified. 


336 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ You are very good to say so.” 

Venice smiled in her odd, inward fashion. 

“Oh, very indeed! It is very good to be glad of a 
sister to share the solitude of a house in a wilderness of 
brick and mortar ; glad to have some one to talk to all the 
'long days when Kenrick will be out. You think, because I 
am not sociable, that I like loneliness and silence ; but it. is 
not so. I should perhaps dread a little the long solitary 
days in that odd old house, were it not for the thought that 
you will be there to share them. You will help me to get 
used to the strange life, and in return you must let me help 
you as much as I can with your work. I am very ignorant : 
I shall be very little use ; but you must let me do what I can. 
I envied you when I first heard your plans. How little I 
thought I should one day share in them ! ” 

‘•It does seem strange,” answered Ursula. “And the 
strangest thing to us is your mother’s consent. TVe fancied 
she disliked Kenrick, although we did not know why.” 

The color rose slowly in Venice’s face ; but she never took 
the least umbrage at frank speaking. 

“ Mamma has been very good to me,” she said. “ I think 
I have been very wrong in many of the things I have thought 
before. I do not quite know what changed her. I rather 
think it was Kingsley’s doing.” 

“I dare say,” answered Ursula, thoughtfully. “Kings- 
ley seems to change everybody a little, llut I wish he would 
get better faster.” 

Venice glanced at her quickly, as if about to speak, but in 
the end remained silent. 

Ursula saw a good deal of Kingsley in the da}’S that fol- 
lowed. She and Venice and Cecil spent many long hours 
sitting round the fire in the cheerful west room of his, making 


FORESHADOWING. 


337 


plans, discussing knotty problems, and talking over the 
future, its cares, its duties, its pleasures, with the eagerness 
and zest that is the happiest attribute of youth. Kingsley 
entered into everything with keen interest, was always ready 
with sympathy, had wise counsel to give when it was asked, 
and seemed to enter into the feelings of the prospective 
workers with the heartiness of one who looked forward to 
taking some share in the work. Ursula always appealed to 
him as if he were to be one of them, even though his part 
might be passive rather than active ; and she never noticed 
the odd look of wistfulness that shone out of Cecil’s eyes, 
or the sudden silence and gravity that fell upon Venice when 
she talked of showing the result of her work to him in days 
to come. 

No one had spoken openly yet of what began at last to be 
visible to experienced eyes, that Kingsley was failing rapidly, 
growing steadily weaker every day. He was so bright and 
cheerful, so unwilling to complain or to admit any cause for 
complaint, that it was difficult to see how ill he really was, 
or how the perpetual pain was wearing him slowly out. 

Ursula was not experienced. She had not the least idea 
of her cousin’s real state. She thought of nothing worse 
than a tedious convalescence or a stiff joint. She had vague 
hopes of her own that he would recover his health and energy 
by degrees, and find out that he could still take some kind 
of share in the work to which he had once intended to devote 
his future. She could not dissociate him altogether from the 
picture of her future life. He had grown to be a sort of 
hero in her eyes, and hero-worship with a girl of Ursula’s 
temperament meant a good deal. She liked nothing better 
than a long serious talk with him. It seemed to open out 
new fields of vision before her eyes. . Ursula had a passion 


22 


338 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


for learning, whatever form it took, and, as Venice had once 
said, there was a good deal to be learned from Kingsley. 

Upon Hilda the truth was very slowly dawning. She had 
not admitted as much to herself as yet, but she began to have 
a faint perception of what was coming, and it cast a shadow 
over her happiness, although for the present the sun still 
shone upon her path. 

Not a word was exchanged between brother and sister on 
the subject, yet it seemed sometimes as if there were an 
added tenderness in her manner towards him, as if every day 
she was less able to tear herself away from him, even when 
he bid her go, because Mervyn was wanting her. She left 
off talking of the future that he was to share, the house 
Mervyn would soon get back into his own hands, and make 
ready for her reception, where he was to be as much at home 
as at the Cedars itself. Gradually she ceased to speak in 
this strain, and, perhaps, her brother knew why, but they 
never spoke of any change of feeling ; and when sometimes, 
as the day declined, and Phyllis would sit at the piano, filling 
the room with soft, sweet harmony, he saw Hilda’s eyes fixed 
wistfully and yearningly upon him, his answer -would be the 
old bright smile, and she knew that, whatever thoughts were 
in his mind, there was no sadness or rebellion there. All her 
life long she had tried more or less to copy him, and she 
meant to try and share his feelings to the end — whatever 
that might be. 

But there came a terrible week in October that broke her 
down altogether. Cold wet frosts suddenly set in, Kingsley 
took a chill, no one knew how, and was attacked by violent 
inflammatory rheumatism, attended by agonizing pain that 
set at defiance every attempt of alleviation. Hilda never 
left him night or day till she dropped at her post at length, 


foreshadowing . 


339 


and was carried off to the Lodge by Mervyn, to be nursed 
herself by his sisters. There were plenty of willing helpers 
to take her place ; for indeed there was little to be done for 
the patient, save just to watch beside him, and Ursula and 
Phyllis took their turns in Hilda’s absence, and learned new 
lessons that were not lost upon them. 

At the end of a week Ivenriek, w r ho had been up to Lon- 
don to consult his hospital authorities, came back with a 
new remedy that acted like a charm from the first. The 
pain disappeared as if by magic, the terrible strain was over 
both for patient and nurses, the immediate danger was past ; 
and yet from that day forward no one spoke of his getting 
well : the unspoken fiat had gone forth, and all now knew 
that he must die, that the shattered constitution could not 
recover the strain and shock of that brief week of struggle 
and conflict, that the life-and-deatli battle had really been 
fought out then, and that though he might recover for a 

O 7 o o 

time, regain a little strength, yet there could be no lasting 
improvement, no real rally. 

Nobody said this ; but they all knew it, and, despite the 
relief of hearing that Kingsley was so much better, a sort of 
shadow seemed to hang over the whole house. It was very 
quiet, too, without the lively presence of the boys. Lance- 
lot and Ted had gone to London with Ivenriek, and were 
staying there for a time superintending the repair of his 
house. Alec Edgeler had been invited to the Lodge by the 
Colquhouns, w r ho thought he must feel dull at the Cedars at 
this time, and Montague had hardly left his brother night or 
day for a week. 

But he left him now r — now that he was better and at 
ease, and went out into the sunny garden with a strange 
look upon his pale face. His eyes were dim, with dark cir- 


340 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


cles round them. He looked out before him, yet seemed to 
see nothing, — rather like one who walks in his sleep. 

“ Montague,” said a soft voice behind him. 

He turned, and held out his hand. 

“ Phyllis.” 

She put her hand within his arm, and they walked on 
together in silence. Presently he paused, and passed his 
hand across his eyes. 

“They have told you then, Phyllis? ” 

“ I think I have known a good while, Montague. I think 
every one who saw him then knew the truth.” 

“ I could have spared him then, I could have been glad 
to let him go ; but now it is as hard as ever. Phyllis, why 
must such things be ? ” 

He spoke half fiercely, though his face softened as he 
looked at her. She knew that the time had come now when 
he was turning to her for comfort ; and she was no longer a 
dependent child, she was a woman, with a woman’s power of 
love and sympathy. She looked up at him, her clear gray 
eyes filled with a new light. 

“Montague,” she said, softly, “ do you think death is, 
after all, so very sad?” 

“Yes, Phyllis, I do ; it is a terrible wall of separation — 
the dead are lost to us.” He spoke with repressed agitation. 

“ No, Montague, not lost, only gone before.” 

She was gazing out towards the western sky, which was 
a blaze of crimson and gold ; his efes followed the direction 
of hers, and his face softened a little from its lines of fierce 
rebellion. 

“ I know what you mean, Phyllis. I suppose it is all 
true enough ; but does it seem real to you ? ” 

“What?” 


1 























































FORESHADOWING . 


341 


“Why, that other life, the life on the other side. I 
believe in it, and yet it is only a name to me.” 

There was something like a glitter of tears on the girl’s 
long eyelashes. 

“ Montague,” she said, “ I think it will seem much more 
real to you when somebody you love is there.” 

He was silent, and she added, dreamily : — 

“Kingsley will never really be dead to any of us, I am 
quite sure.” 

Montague drew a deep breath, yet there was something 
of consolation in the thought. A gentler look crossed his 
face and softened its hard lines. 

“ That is true enough, Phyllis ; and yet one cannot help 
asking the old question, Why must such things be?” 

“ I suppose God knows best,” answered Phyllis, softly, 
and rather timidly, for she had seldom spoken of her deeper 
feelings to Montague before. “I think it is the greatest 
comfort of all that He rules ever} T thing. It all comes from 
Him.” 

“ I have not your faith, Phyllis. It looks hard and bitter 
to me to die young — with everything to make life happy 
and successful. It seems to me a terribly hard doom.” 

“ Does it? ” she asked, still gazing out to the west. “ It 
did not seem like that to me when I saw him last, with the 
lines of pain all smoothed away. It made me think of the 
words we often hear — only they mean so much more when 
they are brought home to us personally — you know what I 
mean, 4 For so He giveth His beloved sleep.’ It will not be 
death for Kingsley, only sleep or rest. You will not grudge 
him that, Montague? I think he has waited for it very 
patiently.” 

Some of the dull weight of sorrow seemed to roll away 


342 


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from Montague’s heart. He put his arm about Phyllis and 
touched her brow with his lips. 

“ I will try to feel as you do,” he said, very gently, “ and 
you must help me, Phyllis. Did I not say that you would 
comfort me if ever the time came ? ” 

She looked up with tears in her eyes. 

“Iam so glad,” she said, simply ; “ but I do not know 
what I have done. It does not seem as if I could do any- 
thing for you, Montague, except to love you.” 

“Except!” he repeated, a certain half-playful tender- 
ness mingling with the sadness of his tone ; “ an important 
exception, nevertheless. Ah, Phyllis, love me always, for 
there are few to love me, and one is going to leave me. 
Yes, after all, it is love that is the greatest power in the 
world. We can bear anything if onty we are loved.” 

“Yes,” answered Phyllis, softly and reverently, “I think 
that is why God is Love.” 



CHAPTER XXV. 


CONFIDENCES. 


RS. TEMPEST was sitting alone in her low- 
r /l^Y61\\ ceiled, cosey drawing-room at the Warrens, 
indulging in a firelight revery as the day- 
light slowly waned, and revolving in her mind many thoughts 
and memories. The house seemed strangely quiet, although 
she had grown used in the past week to the absence of her 
merry boys and girls, and had ceased to miss painfully the 
sound of laughing voices and the tread of hurrying feet ; for 
her husband was away for a couple of days, having been sum- 
moned to town on business, and she was quite alone in the 
house for the time being, and had begun now to give up all 
expectations of a visitor to-day from the Cedars. 

But as she sat in thoughtful mood by the cheerful fire, 
the silence was broken by the sound of a quick, familiar 
footfall. She knew who was coming even before the door 
opened to admit Ursula, and greeted her eldest daughter 
with one of her own peculiarly loving smiles. 


“Well, dear child, this is a pleasant surprise. I had 
almost given up all thoughts of seeing any of you to-day.” 

But Ursula did not answer, she only closed the door 
behind her and came hastily forward, pulling off her hat and 
gloves as she did so with quick, nervous movements. Her 
face was pale and troubled, her eyes were heavy and full of 

[ 343 ] 




344 


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unshed tears, her lips trembled and quivered as if with long- 
pent-up emotion. Mrs. Tempest asked no questions, but 
held out her arms to her child, and Ursula, throwing herself 
on her knees at her mother’s feet, clasped her arms about 
her neck and burst into sudden, passionate weeping. 

“O mother!” she murmured between her sobs. u O 
mother ! darling mother ! ” 

The mother^ held her child very close to her, still not 
speaking, but soothing her by the tenderness of her deep, 
silent love, until at last Ursula’s convulsive weeping began 
to abate ; and though her tears still flowed fast, they were 
tears of healing, relieving her over-burdened heart and 
bringing calmness with them. 

Such an outbreak as this on Ursula’s part was rare 
indeed, and showed her to be deeply moved. Mrs. Tem- 
pest hardly dared to put the question that trembled upon her 
lips : — 

“ Is Kingsley worse ? ” 

Ursula shook her head, and after one or two efforts spoke 
articulately. 

“No, better — much better this morning. He slept all 
night — he has hardly had any return of pain. They say 
they think it can be held in check now. I saw him about 
noon ; he looked more like himself than he has done for a 
long time. He sent his love to you. I told him I was 
going to stay with you till father came back. He said I 
must bring you to see him soon.” 

“ You have come to stay with me, my child?” 

“Yes, till father comes home. I have promised to go 
back then and finish my visit ; but I wanted you so badly, 
mother. O mother, mother, I have wanted vou so much!” 

And Ursula laid her head upon her mother’s shoulder and 


CONFIDENCES. 


345 


clasped her arms more tightly still around her neck. She 
shed no more tears, hut trembled a little, showing plainly 
that her agitation had by no means subsided. Mrs. Tem- 
pest had no clew to her grief, but she felt that she had more 
to hear, felt that Ursula was passing through some crisis of 
her life in which she needed a mother’s love and tenderness 
more than she had ever done before. The very fact that the 
calm, self-contained girl had turned with such instinctive 
longing to her mother for help and comfort roused all the 
deepest love of that mother’s heart. It told her that her 
child was more her own at this moment than she had been 
for years, and that whatever trouble she had upon her mind, 
there was nothing in it of fear or of shame. 

“My darling,” she said, softly, “can you not telf me 
what is troubling you ? ” 

Ursula’s arms strained her more closely. 

* “ O mother, darling mother, you do not know how I 

love you ! There is nobody like you in the world ! ” 

“ Not to you, my precious child. That is why you have 
come to me to-day.” 

“Oh, I have wanted you so ! I could not cry before. I 
had to keep up before them. Oh, it is all so sad, so terribly 
sad ! Mother dear, why do such things happen ? Why 
does God allow it ? ” 

The last words were almost a whisper ; it was seldom 
that Ursula’s reserve was so far overcome even with her 
mother as to speak in such a fashion. 

“Allow trouble and sorrow, sickness and suffering?” 
questioned Mrs. Tempest, gently. “ I think He allows them 
because in His own wonderful way He teaches us lessons 
and brings us nearer to Him by those hard paths than by any 
other way. God speaks to our hearts in times of trouble, or 


346 


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perhaps I should say we listen to Him then as we never do 
at other times.” 

Ursula, moved at length, loosed the convulsive clasp round 
her mother’s neck, and drawing a little back, although still 
kneeling as before, looked up into her face with eyes that 
shone with a strange, intent light. 

“ Mother,” she said, in a very low voice, “ has any one 
told you — about — Kingsley ? ” 

“ What about him, my love?” 

“ That he cannot get better, that he is in a sort of 
decline, and that he must soon — die.” 

That last word was little more than a whisper, and as she 
spoke it Ursula’s head sank on her clasped hands, and then 
came a sort of passionate outburst. 

“Why should it be? Why must he of all others be 
taken? There is no one in all the world so noble, so un- 
selfish, so good.” 

Mrs. Tempest understood the trouble now, read the 
unspoken secret of her daughter’s heart, — a secret hardly 
known to her own self, — the deep, passionate admiration of 
one noble nature for the stainless nobility of another loftier 
than itself. Ursula’s ideal had been found at last in her 
cousin Kingsley. He had awakened within her the highest 
and holiest feelings she had ever known. He had become to 
her as a hero, a saint — a leader she could be proud to follow 
and to serve. She had leaned upon his counsels, trusted to 
his words, had looked forward to his guidance and help in 
the life-work she had chosen for herself as one of its deepest 
joys ; and now, all in a moment, the brightness of the future 
was clouded and overcast, and life itself seemed to lose its 
living interest when the conviction was brought home to her 
that he was to be taken away. 


CONFIDENCES. 


347 

She was not conscious of what this feeling might in time 
have led to ; her love was still of the abstract character 
peculiar to youth and especially to girlhood. She had 
known that Kingsley would in all probability be unable to 
take an active share in any life ; he had himself told her 
that he looked forward to life long lameness and partial 
helplessness. She could only picture him as she had known 
him, feeble, often suffering, tied more or less to his sofa, 
yet with a flow of never-failing interest in the affairs of 
those about him. She had never thought of him in any 
other light. 

She was going to tabe up in part the work he had 
planned for himself, in which she knew his heart was still 
bound up, and in which his interest must centre, She was 
learning her own inexperience, was growing day by day less 
confident in her old theories, more anxious to obtain an 
insight into the deeper mysteries of life and death that 
hedge about our little span of existence here. She had 
not watched in vain these past months and these last days 
the life of one who, whilst claiming so little for himself, 
showed in every action and in every word a source of 
strength, a calm confidence and unshaken courage most 
wonderful to her from its entire unconsciousness. She 
wanted to learn from him — to be his pupil through life. 
She longed to feel that whilst she toiled and labored, he 
would be her chief friend and counsellor. She trusted him, 
she loved him, she had learned to look up to him with a 
reverence that was happiness in itself. Her whole life 
seemed in a manner to depend upon him — and he was to 
be taken away. 

A little, a very little of this did she impart to her mother 
that day — a great deal more did she unconsciously betray ; 


348 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


and her mother read, without any telling at all. Hand 
locked in hand, cheek pressed to cheek, mother and child 
remained together for a long, long time after the simple 
confession was made. Ursula’s childhood seemed left far 
behind in that one hour of her life ; the mother sighed to 
think that it had closed at last forever, and yet she could not 
but feel that the woman’s heart would ever be more strong 
and noble for the trial that had come upon it thus early. 

44 Ah, mother darling, you understand — I knew you 
would. Nobody else but you could ; but you always know. 
It is not wrong to feel so, is it? I cannot help loving him : 
he did teach me so much. I think I never understood till 
I knew him.” 

“We have all learned lessons from Kingsley, my Ursula. 
I think his life has been very perfect and beautiful — such 
lives are never wasted. We must let that comfort us, when 
we are called on to let him go. Ours, I think, ought to be 
better because we have known him.” 

Ursula looked up, a tear quivering on her lashes. 

44 His own test,” she said, very softly. 44 O mother 
dear, I am so glad you feel that too ! You will not think 
me ungrateful and unloving that I grieve for him so much, 
if I feel that life can never be the same for me when he is 
taken away?” 

44 My darling, no ; your mother knows too much of life 
and its sorrows to feel anything but the deepest love and 
sympathy for her child. I think I understand a little what 
the blank must be ; but, Ursula, my dear love, is there 
nothing that can fill it ? ” 

44 Work, perhaps,” was the answer that came readily to 
Ursula’s lips. 44 Indeed, I mean to work as hard as ever; 
I shall try to feel that I am working for him.” 


CONFIDENCES. 


349 


“ I was not thinking altogether of that, dear,” said the 
mother, gently. “ God grant you a very useful, active life ! 
yet there is another blessing beside that that I would ask for 
you.” 

Ursula looked up with a questioning gaze into her 
mother’s face. 

“ What is that, mother dear? ” 

“ What is it,” asked the mother, softly, “that has made 
Kingsley’s life so beautiful? ” 

Ursula did not speak, but her wistful eyes were eloquent, 
shining through a mist of tears. 

“ What is it that makes him strong to bear everything; 
that makes us know that everything which comes to him 
comes as a blessing, and is accepted as such? ” 

Ursula’s lips quivered. 

“ Mother, do you remember what you showed me once? 
what you said he made you think of ? Say it once again : 
I want to hear it.” 

Mrs. Tempest recalled the incident and answered her 
daughter’s appeal by repeating the desired words : — 

“‘Tliou wilt k(ep him in perfect peace, whose mind is 
stayed on Thee.’” 

“ In perfect peace,” repeated Ursula, tremulously. “ Ah, 
that is just what it was — it is just like Kingsley. Perfect 
peace even in the worst of that fearful pain. I can never 
forget it, mother, never, so long as I live.” 

“No, my child, and I trust that you may live not only to 
remember, but to share it too.” 

Ursula looked up with quick wistfulness. 

“ Ah, if I only could ; but, mother, I do not think I ever 
can. It is such a mystery to me.” She clasped her hands 
closely together, and in the tumult of her feeling all reserve 


350 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


for the moment was overpowered and lost. “ It is not that 
I do not believe. I have been very careless and indifferent 
nearly all my life — but lately that has changed. I do 
believe. I do pray as I never prayed before. I have 
prayed, — oh, so earnestly ! — to be forgiven, that I do think 
I have been heard. I think I am forgiven. I know that 
Christ is my Saviour and Redeemer. I do love Him as 
once I never thought I could. But oh, mother dear ! I am 
so far, far away from that peace that he has found. I feel 
like a ship all tossed about in storm and darkness. I have 
hold of the anchor, but the haven seems so far away. I 
despair sometimes of reaching it. What is it that makes 
the difference ? Can I ever hope to stand where he stands 
now, to learn his secret, to know the peace that rests upon 
him?” 

Mrs. Tempest was silent for a while, and then she said, 
softly and gently : — 

“ ‘But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long- 
suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temper- 
ance. * 4 God is a Spirit : and they that worship Him must 

worship Him in spirit and in truth.’ ” 

Ursula’s eyes were lifted with an intensely earnest look. 

“ You mean, mother — ? ” 

“ I mean, my child, that it is the fruit of the Spirit that 
shows itself in Kingsley’s life, making it so Christ-like and 
beautiful. Our Saviour has redeemed us to Himself ; but 
it is His Spirit in our hearts that gives us grace and 
strength to follow in His footsteps and witness for Him 
silently day by day, as Kingsley has undoubtedly witnessed, 
not by words alone, but by his loving kindliness, gentleness, 
and unselfishness, as well as by his courage and steadfast 
faith. Ilis life on earth may be short, but perpaps that is 


CONFIDENCES. 


351 


because his work is early accomplished, because he is found 
worthy to be called early to his reward.” 

Ursula was silent, but the strained look was passing from 
her face. A little ray of comfort and light was stealing over 
the desolation of her soul. Her heart was still very heavy, 
but the bitterness had passed away. She could begin to 
think a little of his gain rather than of her loss, and there 
could not but be much of comfort in that thought. 

A quiet evening with her mother did more for her than 
anything else could have done, and by the time that another 
day had dawned Ursula had schooled herself to say, if not 
joyfully, yet with submissive resignation, “ Thy will be 
done.” 

At the Cedars there was a curious kind of calm pervading 
the house, a sort of hush over everything, an atmosphere of 
strange stillness and peace which no one quite fathomed, yet 
which was clearly perceived by all. 

Kingsley was better, wonderfully better ; natural sleep 
had brought undoubted increase of strength. He emphati- 
cally made progress ever}’ hour of the day. The new medi- 
cine, though requiring to be carefully used, insured freedom 
from any severe attacks of pain, and there was some talk of 
his leaving his bed in the course of a few more days, change 
of posture seeming to relieve him more than anything else. 

And yet with all these favorable symptoms had come the 
unalterable verdict that nothing could save him, that he 
must die. How it came about that every one was suddenly 
made aware of this no one could quite tell ; but it was plain 
that each one knew it, and that the veil had at last been 
taken away from all eyes. 

Perhaps there was less of sadness in this conviction from 
what had just gone before. No one who had seen him 


352 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


during that week of severe suffering could^ realty feel a wish 
to witness a repetition of it. His health was shattered past 
hope of recovery, and surety death was less sad to contem- 
plate than years of helplessness, inactivity, and pain. No 
one could go near Kingsley without being very sure that for 
him to die would be gain ; and even those who most longed 
to keep him with them were learning to be ready to let him 
go willingly, nay, even gladly. 

Hilda, when she returned to the Cedars, after a few days’ 
sojourn at the Lodge, had been told all by Mervyn, and 
accepted it with the quiet courage that is inherent in all 
truly unselfish natures. She had been partly prepared for 
it, and she loved him too truly to seek to keep him from the 
rest and peace that he had waited for so patiently and so 
long. 

When she saw him first after their brief separation he read 
her knowledge in her eyes, in the tremulous quivering of her 
lips, in every tone of her voice as she returned his loving 
welcome, and he was glad that there was now no secret 
between them, and that, without even as much as a sad word 
having passed that could be looked back upon with sorrow, 
she knew all he had shrunk from telling her, and accepted 
the truth without grieving him by one tear or one outward 
expression of grief. It seemed to Kingsley as if his way 
were wonderfully smoothed before him. So many, many 
things he had looked forward to with dread were accom- 
plished for him without any effort on his part, even without, 
so far as he knew it, one passionate outbreak of sorrow on 
the part of those he loved best. To be spared the sight of 
their grief was a thing to be deeply thankful for. He could 
bear suffering for himself, but he had not learned how to 
see others suffer without keen pain. 


CONFIDENCES. 


353 


They did not speak, however, of what was in their 
thoughts, but by and by Kingsley said : — 

“ Hilda, I have one wish very near my heart/’ 

“Yes, Kingsley, what is it?” 

“To see you Mervyn’s wife before man} 7 weeks have 
passed.” 

There was a little silence in the room, Hilda’s head was 
bent and her face hidden, but presently she answered, softly : 

“You do not want me to leave you, Kingsley? — for I 
could not do that — I could not indeed.” 

He held out his hand with a smile. 

“ And I could not spare you, my own dear sister,” he 
answered. “ But I am such a privileged person that I can 
always get my owu way with everybody now. There is 
plenty of room in the house for you and Mervyn to have 
your own quarters for — for as long as you will want them. 
I know our father will be only too pleased, and Mrs. Tem- 
pest also — she is so good to me, you cannot think. To 
have you and Mervyn here — to know that you had a hus- 
band to care for you, to comfort you — it would make me 
very happy. He has loved you almost all his life. He has 
waited very patiently. Hilda, will you not let me see him 
rewarded? I have been in his confidence many, many years. 
We have always been brothers at heart. Will you not give 
us the right to call ourselves brothers in reality? ” 

She was silent a moment, conquering herself perhaps, for 
there was much in this speech to move her, but when she did 
speak it was quite calmly. 

“ Yes, Kingsley, I will. It shall be as you wish. Mervyn 
said it was his wish too. I was not sure — then — if I 
could ; but I will now, whenever you wish.” 

He smiled in his old playful way. 

23 


354 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“ # Nay, it is for the lady to fix the day. I infringe no 
prerogative ; give me just a little time to get up my good 
looks again — Ted tells me I am. no better than a superan- 
nuated scarecrow — and to get in trim for a family wedding, 
and then I shall /welcome Mrs. St. John more gladly than I 
can say. And you must let all the cousins be bridemaids, 
and Venice and Clare too', and have a real ‘ white wedding,’ 
in the good old style. No, no,” as Hilda looked up as if to 
plead for quietness and simplicity ; “I must have my own 
way, and I will not be cheated out of seeing my sister as I 
have always pictured her — a peerless bride in gleaming 
white, veil and orange blossoms. Hilda, dearest sister, 
if there is something of a shadow hanging over us, if we 
cannot quite rid ourselves of all sense of sadness, at least 
let us not try to sadden others too. There is so much 
brightness behind, so very, very much to be glad and grate- 
ful for, that I cannot help wishing to dwell on the happiness 
rather than the sorrow. I cannot tell you how bright and 
peaceful it all looks to me, how every wish I have seems to 
be granted almost before it is formed, how you all seem to 
vie with one another who can show me most kindness and 
love. Can you wonder if I see everything through a rose- 
colored medium, that I want all to be very bright for myself 
and for them all? Let me have my wish, Hilda, and see 
you married — as far as I can see it — as you would have 
been had I not been laid aside, unable to take my share in 
what goes on. It will please me — I think it will please 
them all ; and it will Jielp me not to feel that I am the wet 
blanket on everything and everybody.” 

The mixture of playfulness and tenderness with which he 
spoke almost overset her composure ; but she commanded 
herself and looked at him with a smile. 


CONFIDENCES. 


355 


“ You shall have it your own way, Kingsley,” she said. 

Everything shall be as white and as bridal as your 
lordship can desire. You shall have the ordering of every- 
thing, and the only condition I make is that you are well 
enough to enjoy it all on the day without running down 
afterwards.” 

“ I will make bold enough to promise that,” he answered, 
with a glad, kindling smile. “ I believe in happiness as the 
best medicine of all. The next thing will be to write to my 
tailor to order a new coat for the occasion ! ” 



CHAPTER XX VL 

THE WEDDING. 

2 T seemed as if Kingsley had only to express a wish to 
carry the whole of the household with him ; and when 
it was made known that his heart was set on seeing 
Hilda and Mervyn made man and wife, every one saw in a 
speedy marriage the happiest and most natural solution of 
one problem, and recognized Kingsley’s wisdom in his loving 
care for his sister’s welfare and happiness, securing thus for 
her a husband’s supporting presence and the comforting power 
of his love before the time came when he must leave her. 

Mervyn had himself longed unspeakably to make her his 
wife before that day should dawn, but with his habitual 
self-mastery he had forborne to press her, knowing how 
heavily the trouble connected with her brother weighed upon 
her. At first she had wished to wait till he was better, and 
could “ spare her” for a time, and since she had known the 
worst he had only ventured to hint at his great wish, fear- 
ing she should see in it a desire to take her from Kingsley 
whilst he was still left to her, a piece of selfishness of which 
he was quite incapable. 

The one difficulty in the way Kingsley had solved in the 
simplest fashion, and both the General and Mrs. Tempest 
entered into his wishes with all imaginable heartiness and 
good-will. 


[ 356 ] 



THE WEDDING. 


357 


The wedding was fixed for the last week in November. 
Mervyn — if Kingsley continued as well as he now was — 
was to take his bride away for a week or ten days, after 
which they were . to return to the Cedars, where their own 
suite of rooms would then be ready for them, to stay there 
“ for Christmas and over the New Year,” as was said, — in 
reality, as long as the feeble lamp of life flickered in its 
socket. 

Colquhoun had expressed it as his opinion that Kingsley 
could not outlast the year ; and as soon as the long life-and- 
death struggle should be over, Mervyn purposed to carry off 
his wife to the sunny south, to try what change of scene, 
together with his unceasing, loving care, would do to bring 
back to her sad eyes the light of happiness, and to her pale 
cheeks the bloom of perfect health. Her heart he knew was 
his : it would be strange if his love could not in time chase 
away the shadows, and let the sunshine of happiness shine 
out once more. 

Kingsley was his most sympathetic listener when he un- 
folded his plans. He took the keenest interest in everything 
concerning his sister’s future. He and Mervyn would talk 
for long hours together over past days and days to come, of 
Hilda, her devotion, her constancy, the depth of her love 
when it was once engaged. It was Kingsley’s greatest pleas- 
ure to hear of Mervyn’s plans for her happiness, to picture 
the new life in which he himself could have no share, to 
think of her as playing the part of chdtelaine in Mervyn’s 
future home, — the home he had so often heard described, — 
to dream of her as what he knew she would be, a beautiful, 
loving wife, and kind, considerate mistress, a Lady Bountiful 
in the best sense of that much-abused term, a blessing to all 
about her. He could not talk to her much of that coming 


358 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


life, the tears would start to her eyes, and with a wistful, 
pleading glance she would say, “Please don’t, Kingsley: I 
cannot bear it — yet.” But she saw that his thoughts dwelt 
on it with pleasure, and she was glad it should be so — glad 
that no shadow hung over him, that all was brightness and 
sunshine in his eyes, tinged with the golden light from the 
land whither he was going. 

The prospective wedding in the house made a good deal 
of life and stir there. Kingsley’s wish that everything 
should be done in a style befitting the marriage of the only 
daughter of Reginald Tempest was to be gratified in every 
point. He was well enough to listen to suggestions from 
everybody, to plan many things himself, and to take the 
greatest interest in every detail connected with the approach- 
ing ceremony. 

He would not hear of the departure of his cousins before 
the appointed day. Lancelot and Ted had to go back to 
their studies, but the girls he insisted on keeping at the 
Cedars. He wanted everything to be as bright as possible ; 
and nothing so contributed to the sunshine of the house as 
the sound of girlish voices and laughter down the long corri- 
dors, as the hurrying to and fro of busy feet. 

Kingsley himself seemed really to have taken a turn for 
the better. The freedom from pain, after weeks and months 
of more or less acute suffering, was an inestimable boon, and 
brought with it a return of the old bright spirit that had only 
shown itself of late in isolated flashes. He was excessively 
weak — indeed, the very remedy that relieved the pain sen- 
sibly lowered the vital power, and had therefore to be used 
with caution ; but, as he was never required to exert himself, 
his increasing feebleness passed almost unobserved, r and per- 
haps it was only Cecil who was really aware how fast liis 


THE WEDDING. 


359 


strength ebbed away, — and Cecil kept his own counsel with 
a discretion beyond his years. 

He was able to be dressed and to be wheeled into his 
favorite west room in the afternoon, and there he would 
hold a kind of mimic court : examine with a knowing face 
the u patterns ” brought to him of costly textures for the 
dress of bride and bridemaidens, give his opinion with 
quaint gravity upon such questions as the length of trains, 
the flowers for the bouquets, and the knotty point of veils 
versus hats for the bridemaids. 

Talking things over with Kingsley gave a brightness and 
a zest to the preparations that otherwise they must inevita- 
bly have lacked. It was impossible not to catch some of 
his spirit, to be infected by his gladness of anticipation. 
Even Hilda’s face lost the sadness that had fallen on it of 
late ; and although she was very quiet, and left matters 
much to her brothers and cousins, the gentle serenity akin 
to happiness stole back into her beautiful eyes, and she 
knew that what had at first seemed hard was the best thing 
that could possibly come to her. No loss could be quite so 
hard to bear — she felt it all now — when she was upheld 
by a husband’s devoted love. 

Then, too, it was harder to realize the approaching part- 
ing when Kingsley himself was so full of gladness, so like 
the Kingsley of former days. She tried not to delude her- 
self with false hopes, yet it was impossible not to feel just 
a gleam of hopeful doubt ; and at any rate she could accept 
with glad gratitude the present improvement, and rejoice in 
the ease and rest so welcome to the worn, weary frame. 

Nothing could exceed the kindness and consideration of 
Mrs. Tempest at this time. A mother could hardly have 
been more tender towards Kingsley than she was, albeit iu 


360 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


a quiet, unostentatious way, that increased the gratitude 
he felt towards her. All the old sore feeling that Montague 
and Hilda had experienced towards their step-mother had 
died away, no one knew how ; and they were as anxious 
now to study her tastes and wishes, as she showed herself 
to leave everything in their hands. Nothing disturbed the 
harmony of the house. Alec and Venice were accepted on 
terms of brotherly and sisterly intimacy ; and the cousins 
from the Warrens felt as much at home at the Cedars as if 
they had visited there all their lives. 

In busy preparation the days flew quickly by. There 
was to be a dinner for the tenants in the great barn ; there 
were to be doles for the poor, who were to feast in their own 
homes ; presents to the school children, who had petitioned 
to scatter before the bride such flowers as could be pro- 
cured in November ; and the sick and aged to be thought 
of, that they might in a measure share the gladness of the 
day. 

Kingsley, however, was equal to all the thinking and 
planning. He and Ursula together wrote out lists, made 
calculations, and prepared inventories of everything neces- 
sary for the occasion. She paid visits to many cottage 
homes, received a good deal of unconscious preparation for 
the new life in which she was about to embark, and was 
never happier than when employed as his messenger or 
almoner. 

It was obvious to all who saw them at work together 
that many ties of common interest and mutual understand- 
ing existed between them ; and so it came almost upon the 
eve of her wedding day that Hilda gave to Ursula a special 
charge. They were walking together, as they sometimes 
did, in a secluded shrubbery path as the dusk was stealing 


THE WEDDING. 


361 


on. The dry leaves crackled beneath their feet as they rustled 
through the fallen heaps, the chill wind blew sighing over 
their heads, and the saffron glow paled in the western sky. 

Hilda had been very quiet all day, as a girl is often at 
such a time. She had gone about with a tender, wistful 
look in her eyes, with a smile for every one, but a smile that 
was tinged with sadness. It was a sort of mute farewell 
to the old life that was so soon to close ; and that old life, 
despite clouds in the sky, and the shadow hanging over it, 
had been, on the whole, a very happy one, and could not be 
laid aside without a certain lingering regret. 

So her gravity and silence had surprised no one ; and 
even when she had asked Ursula to come out a little while 
with her before dark, it was some time before she spoke, 
and her companion waited without any impatience till she 
should be ready to say what was on her mind. 

“Ursula,” she said, presently, “I wanted to ask you 
just one thing before I go. Will you stay here till I come 
back and take my place with Kingsley? I should like to 
feel that you would be there ; I sometimes fancy that you 
understand him better than many people who have known 
him longer. He is fond of you, I know. He likes to have 
you with him. Can your mother spare you a little while 
longer, do you think ? ” 

“I think so,” answered Ursula. “I will ask her. I 
should like to sta} 7 .” 

“And, Ursula, — your eyes see a great* deal, I know; 
and Kenrick and Cecil are your brothers: you could get 
them to speak the whole truth to you, — if there should be 
any change whilst I am away, any change for the worse, 
be it ever so little, promise that you will write or telegraph 
at once. Don’t wait till others see it and are alarmed 


362 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Act on your own discretion. I know his life hangs on a 
thread. Can I trust you ? will you promise if you see the 
least change for the worse to send word to me, and in any 
case to write very often?” 

“ I promise, Hilda,” answered Ursula* earnestly. “ I 
promise faithfully.” 

Hilda turned to her with a smile that said a great deal. 

“Thank you, Ursula; I trust j t ou, and I shall go away 
with a mind almost at ease now.” She paused a moment, 
and then went on speaking in a low voice, very grave, yet 
very sweet: “Ursula, I want us always to be friends. 
You are soon going away to do the kind of work Kingsley 
meant to do. Once I thought it would have been my lot 
to help him in that work ; but life seldom turns out as we 
have thought and planned. Yet if ever in the future I can 


help you, if ever you want wnat I may be able to give, — 
money, influence, assistance that the poor stand so much in 
need of in so many, many ways, — if ever you want what 
it is in my power to grant, come to me for it, let me be 
- able to feel that I too am helping on Kingsley’s work, and 
God’s work too. If ever you want rest and change, yet 
have no time for the journey down to your own home, come 
to me. Let me have the pleasure of feeling that I have a 
sister, a sister who treats me as such, and takes me at my 
word. Let me share in your work, by lightening a little 
your burden whenever it may be in my power to do so. 
Will you promise me thi3 too, Ursula? ” 

“O Hilda! indeed I will. To have you for a sister 
will be like a link with the past and with him. It is so 
good of you to wish it! And to think that once I said 
there could never be any real sympathy in common between 
you and me J ” 


THE WEDDING. 


363 


Hilda smiled, recalling what she had heard of the feel- 
ings of past days. 

“ You see, Kingsley was the link in common,” she said. 
“ His sympathies went out to everybody ; and he drew us all 
together, not you and yours only, but our step-mother and 
her children — he won all alike. Sometimes, when I think 
of it all, it seems to me that, although the world will never 
know anything of it, his has been a very wonderful life. ,> 

Ursula lodked up with quick sympathy. 

“ Indeed yes,” she answered, a little huskily ; “yet, oh, 
why is it that he must die ? ” 

Hilda looked with penetrating sweetness into her com- 
panion’s eyes, and then kissed her gently, with a curious new 
tenderness. Something was then revealed to Hilda that she 
had not guessed before. 

“Ursula dear,” she said, softly, “I think that. lives like 
his never die. I think they live in the world in a won- 
derful way that is felt if not seen. We will try to do what 
we can to keep his life before us. I think that in the future 
there will be very many who would, did they but know all, 
bless the name and the memory of Kingsley Tempest.” 

And then the girls walked together to the house, strangely 
quieted and comforted. 

The next day dawned clear and bright and hue ; the 
sun shone as if in defiance of winter chill and fog. The 
air was warm and soft, everything to make an ideal winter 
wedding-day. 

The household was astir betimes, and Kingsley was not 
much behindhand in his preparations. He had set his heart 
on joining in, in his own way, the festivities of the day ; 
and he and Cecil had their own private programme sketched 
out, upon the carrying out of which both were keenly set. 


364 JOINT GUARDIANS. 

x 

The faithful little attendant was down betimes, making 
a roaring fire in both of Kingsley’s rooms, and testing in 
a scientific way with a thermometer the temperature, and 
comparing it with that of the picture gallery, in which 
fires had been burning of late almost night and day, and 
in which the long table was now spread ready for the im- 
portant breakfast. 

u All right, old fellow ! ” he kept announcing, cheerfully. 
“ No fear of your taking a chill anywhere. The whole 
wing is as warm and comfortable as possible. We’ll get 
you some breakfast first thing, and then we ’ll have you 
dressed in your wedding finery before anybody else knows 
you are astir.” 

Off darted the active messenger, and he was as good as 
his word. 

In the bustle of that busy morning it was easy for 
Kingsley to secure time and opportunity for his design, and 
long before the bride and bridemaids were ready to show 
themselves to him before starting for church he was com- 
fortably established in an arm-chair by his sitting-room 
fire (it was weeks since he had attempted to sit up) , dressed 
in the new clothes alluded to by Cecil as his “ wedding 
finery,” a white gardenia in his button-hole, his whole appear- 
ance unmistakably sharing in the general holiday look 
assumed by all. 

“ You do look jolly,” cried Cecil, surveying this triumph 
with honest admiration. “ I really think it becomes you 
to be thin and wasted : it shows up your aristocratic cast 
of countenance and makes your eyes look very fine. You ’re 
uncommonly good-looking, you know, Kingsley, and there 
is a sort of je ne sais quoi in your expression that is quite 
indescribable.” 


THE WEDDING. 


365 


The fine eyes thus alluded to were filled with quiet 
humor. Kingsley looked back at his small friend perched 
up on the back of the sofa opposite, with a smile kindling 
over his pale face. 

“ That ’s consolatory, at any rate, youngster ; we will 
hope the ladies will share your opinion. Is it nojt almost 
time they were here ? ” 

“ Yes ; and they ’ll expect to find you still in bed ; what 
a lark!” cried Cecil. “Won’t they stare when they see 
you here ! ” 

“Yes; it is all very jolly, as you say. I like it im- 
mensely.” 

“You look very like a cameo, with that red cushion 
behind your head,” pursued Cecil, eying him with critical 
scrutiny. “ Only it makes you look awfully white. I should 
like to touch you up with rouge if there was time ; only 
perhaps after all you are 'more perfect as you are.” 

Kingsley laughed outright. 

“ You young jackanapes, how you do jabber ! Surely I 
hear the ladies coming. Now you must bestir yourself and 
do the honors properly.” 

Cecil leaped from his perch and flung open the door ; 
the bridemaids, together with Mrs. Tempest, were coming 
down the passage. 

“ This way, ladies ! ” cried the boy, with great assumption 
of dignity ; and he bowed them into the room with all im- 
aginable ceremony. 

He enjoyed the importance of his own position, and Kings- 
ley shared the feeling in his own quiet fashion, and enjoyed 
the sight of the five girls in their spotless white, with their 
fragrant flowers in their hands and their quaint mediaeval 
head-dresses, with veils falling back from them behind. 


366 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


They were quickly hurried away, however, for, as is 
usually the case, time began to press, and he was left 
smiling to himself as the vision melted away, leaving behind 
the faint subtle perfume that lingered long when all else had 
vanished. 

A dreamy light was in his eyes, a tender, thoughtful 
smile upon his lips. Cecil did not attempt to speak a single 
word, but retreated to a corner and perched himself up in 
the shadow, watching his friend intently, and not disturbing 
him by so much as a sound. 

And then the door opened softly, and Hilda came in 
alone. She looked very lovely in her bridal robes, her 
graceful head shaded b} T the long lace veil, that fell almost 
to her feet, her beautiful eyes shining with a depth of feel- 
ing she had no power to utter, but which expressed itself in 
every look and every glance. 

She stopped short when she saw Kingsley, with a smile 
of sudden surprise, but she did not speak, only lifted her 
veil and put it back, and, laying down her flowers as she 
passed the table, she came and knelt down before him, lift- 
ing her tender, tremulous face to his. 

“My darling !” he said, very softly, and laid his hand 
upon her head. 

For a few seconds they remained so, silent and motion- 
less, and then Kingsley spoke again : — 

“ I should like to have seen your bridal, sweet sister, but 
my heart will be with you all the while. God bless you, my 
dearest one ! May Mervyn make you as happy as you 
deserve to be ! ” 

He did not say more, seeing that it was with difficulty she 
retained her composure, and anxious not to agitate her at a 
time like this. She made no attempt to speak, but laid her 


THE WEDDING. 


367 


head for a moment against his shoulder, and held his hands 
closely locked in hers. Then a step outside made itself 
heard, and Hilda drew back and quietly stood up. It was 
the General come to take his daughter ; and he too started 
with surprise to see Kingsley already in gala attire. 

“ Why, my boy,” he exclaimed, heartily, “ this is some- 
thing like ! Are you sure it will not be too much for you ? 
What will Colquhoun say ? ” 

“ He may say what he likes,” answered Kingsley, smiling, 
as he returned the pressure of his father’s hand. “This is 
our Hilda’s day in every sense of the word, and I am not 
going to forego the pleasure of celebrating it in my own way. 
Have you come for the bride? She is almost ready. I do 
not think it would be easy to find one more beautiful or more 
sweet.” 

Hilda shot one tender glance at him as she stood drawing 
on her gloves, and then dropped her eyes again ; Cecil stood 
beside her on a chair, adjusting her veil for her with the 
serious gravity of a true artist. When all was accomplished 
to his liking he handed her her flowers, and opened the door 
for them to pass out. Hilda took her father’s arm, gave one 
look and smile to Kingsley, and was led away forthwith, the 
color mantling her fair face, the reflection of that last glance 
softening and dimming her eyes. 

When Cecil returned after seeing the bride to her car- 
riage, he resumed his perch and his silent inspection of 
Kingsley without attempting to indulge his conversational 
powers. There was a look upon the still, cameo-like face 
against the crimson cushion that filled the boy’s heart with 
feelings of loving reverence not unmixed with awe. Cecil’s 
instincts were unusually keen and true, his sensibilities 
peculiarly fine. The little scene he had just witnessed 


868 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


between brother and sister had touched him deeply, little as 
he would have confessed it, and his hero had risen in his love 
and esteem, if possible, higher than before. 

He had planned to enliven this quiet hour, bustling to and 
fro, and reporting all that was going on in the house ; but 
instead of doing this he sat very still, not once attempting 
to break the silence, knowing well that Kingsley’s thoughts 
were with his sister, that he was following the sacred mar- 
riage vows in his heart, and was praying for a blessing upon 
her future life. As the boy studied his cousin’s face with all 
the concentration of a mind naturally prone to analysis and 
reflection, he was conscious of a sudden conviction that 
prayer was a real, living power, not a mere emotional senti- 
ment ; that Hilda’s life must of necessity be happier and 
holier, her marriage more sacred and beautiful, for the peti- 
tions that he knew were going up for her from that loving 
heart. He was dimly conscious of an unspoken longing 
that, in any crisis of- his future life, some prayers as deep 
and earnest as those might be offered up for him by one who 
stood as near the gates of heaven as Kingsley surely did that 
day. He found himself wondering with an odd intensity of 
feeling if Kingsley ever prayed for him. 

When, however, soon after the clock had chimed the hour 
of twelve, the faint echoes of the joyous wedding bells came 
wafted to them upon the wings of the wind, Kingsley roused 
himself from his abstraction, and looked up with a smile. 

44 They will be here soon,” he said. “ I suppose I could 
not get as far as the hall to welcome them ? ” 

Cecil shook his head with great decision. 

“Certainly not. I could not hear of it for a moment. 
Remember there is still the breakfast to come, and you will 
be tired enough before that is over. I ’ll go, if you want 


THE WEDDING. 


369 


somebody to be there, and they won’t be long before they 
come to you.” 

Cecil bounded away, all eagerness to be foremost in every- 
thing, and through the open door Kingsley’s quick ears 
caught the sound of carriage wheels and the bustle of an 
arrival. With perceptible effort and a slight contraction of 
the brows he pulled himself slowly to his feet, and with 
a smile upon his lips and an eager light of welcome in his 
eyes he stood awaiting the coming of his sister. 

The next moment Mervyn entered with his bride upon his 
arm. The color had come into Hilda’s cheeks, the brightness 
into her eyes. Mervyn’s face was full of a proud and tender 
light. 

44 Kingsley,” he said , 44 you are still to be the first, I find. 
My wife will not let me have the first kiss : that is reserved 
for you.” 

How gladly and proudly the words 44 my wife ” were 
spoken ! Kingsley caught the inflexion of his voice and 
gave him one look that spoke volumes ; then he lifted 
Hilda’s veil and gave and received the kiss that had been 
kept for him. But she looked up at him with a little 
anxious reproach in her eyes. 

44 You are doing too much, Kingsley.” 

44 It is to do honor to Mrs. St. John,” he answered, look- 
ing down into her eyes with a reassuring smile. 44 Do not 
be afraid, little sister : I will take excellent care of myself.” 

But she could not be satisfied till Mervyn had helped him 
back to his chair, and only when he was resting there at ease 
would she let him hear as much as they could tell him of 
what had just passed. 

But the bride could not linger long beside him ; the guests 
were arriving fast, and Cecil rushed in to summon her. 

24 


370 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


44 You must have my flowers,” she said, bending down to 
kiss him once more ; and Mervyn wrung his hand as he 
turned away, saying, in a low voice : — 

“Kingsley, I owe this happiness to you.” 

Kingsley was left alone with the great snowy mass of 
fragrant hot-house flowers in his hand ; he looked at them 
smilingly, inhaled their sweetness, his eyes growing dreamy 
and deep. There was something in the sight of the frail 
white blossoms, so inextricably connected in our minds with 
marriage and with death, that brought many floating images 
before his brain, and filled his mind with strange musings, 
half sweet, half sad. 

4 4 1 say ! ” cried Cecil, bursting in upon him at length ; 
44 they will be coming in to the breakfast soon ; if you want 
to get the start of them you had better come now. Your 
place is all ready for you next Hilda ; are you ready ? ” 

But Kingsley did not move, and Cecil, looking sharply at 
him, said : — 

44 1 don’t believe you are up to it, after all ; what a pity !” 

44 I’m afraid I must give up the breakfast,” answered 
Kingsley ; 44 but, as nobody expected me, it will not much mat- 
ter. Say nothing about it. I shall enjoy hearing the clatter 
from a distance ; and you must listen to the speeches and 
report upon them, and bring me some wedding-cake when it 
is cut.” 

Cecil shook his head gravely. 

44 1 was afraid you would be done up ; it was a splendid 
plan ; but I was afraid it would come to grief somewhere. 
Well, never mind, you have taken everybody by surprise, 
and nobody will know how our programme broke down in 
the middle, — better that than your breaking down though. 
I’ll not say a word to any one.” 


THE WEDDING. 


371 


He enjoyed Cecil’s animated account of how things were 
going on, as the boy ran backwards and forwards between 
the two rooms, and laughed a little at his clever mimicry of 
the different speeches and the nervousness of some of the 
speakers. 

“ Mervyn was the best, though he was the bridegroom ; 
and it ’s orthodox for the bridegroom to look a fool on such 
occasions. Mervyn did n’t, however ; and the General spoke 
very well, like a regular old soldier as he is.” 

Kingsley enjoyed it all very much at second hand, and 
his face was bright when Hilda came to say good by. His 
smile almost brought the tears to her eyes, but she held them 
bravely in check, and he had only merry, cheerful words for 
her as he kissed her again and again, and told Mervyn to 
take great care of her. 

“ She has always been used to a great deal of attention, 
our only sister and fair lady. Be good to her, Mervyn ; I 
need not say more ; and bring her back by and by to let me 
see how happy you have made her.” 

Mervyn wrung his hand and led his bride away proudly 
and gladly. Kingsley looked after them with a smile in his 
eyes. It had been a very happy day for him. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 


TESTAMENTARY. 



ILDA’S wedding had brought all the party from 
the Warrens to the Cedars, and the General 
would not hear of their departure when the 


event was past. 

u You will not hurry away, I hope,” he said to Mrs. Tem- 
pest, with something of pleading in his tone, his fine face 
touched by the shadow of coming sorrow in a way that went 
to her heart at once. “ You and your young people do us 
good. We should miss you sadly if you went away. My 
boy would miss you too. Can we not persuade you to re- 
main? I want us to be a united family party at Christmas, 
and Christmas will soon be upon us now. You will not try 
to leave us before that ? I onty regret that it should be the 
first Christmas we have spent together.” 

Mrs. Tempest yielded at once. Her husband was for a 
moment inclined to hesitate, but a few words from his wife 
and Phyllis’s pretty pleading soon won him over, and each 
day that passed showed him how entirely the old antagonism 
between him and his elder brother had disappeared. 

Phyllis had done her unconscious part in bringing her 
two guardians together, and, after that, old association, the 
tie of blood, and the softening influence of time had accom- 
plished the rest. At this time, too, Mr. Tempest was deeply 


[ 372 ] 


TESTAMENTARY. 


373 

■* sorry for his brother. He had never lost a child himself, 
and he silently sympathized in the unspoken grief of the 
father, who knew at last that his son’s days were numbered, 
and that his life was drawing to a close. 

Despite the shadow that hung over the house, a good deal 
of cheerful animation reigned there in these days, and no- 
where were smiles brighter and voices gayer than in Kings- 
ley’s room, whither he was wheeled each afternoon, and 
which was a centre of life and brightness. 

He delighted in having them all about him, in setting the 
keen wits of his cousins to work in mimic warfare, in listen- 
ing to Alec’s stories of barrack life, and laughing at his racy 
anecdotes of military sayings and doings. He liked to 
watch the growing friendship between Montague and the 
young guardsman, and to mark how by slow and impercep- 
tible degrees his brother was losing his distrust for their 
step-mother, and was learning to accept her presence with- 
out the least irritation or annoyance. Hilda’s departure 
made this somewhat easier perhaps, for there was no longer 
in his mind the rankling sense that she was being set aside ; 
but in all probability the change arose from a deeper cause, 
from a softening of his own haughty spirit, and from the 
quiet, kindly consideration that was unvaryingly displayed 
by the mistress of the house to them all. 

Mrs. Tempest was certainly very good to Kingsley, and 
very much attached to him. He was often touched by quiet 
little indications of her thoughtful consideration for him ; 
and, though they did not often talk much, aud were seldom 
alone together, the} T understood and appreciated one another. 

“ Mrs. Tempest is very much changed from when I knew 
her first,” Kenrick once observed thoughtfully to Kingsley. 
“I should think it was my want of previous knowledge, 


374 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


only that Venice says just the same. Have you observed 
the change ? ” 

“ Mrs. Tempest was always kind to me from the first,” 
he answered, “ but I certainly like her more, the more I get 
to know her.” 

“ It was the most extraordinary thing, her making my 
way so plain with Venice. I never believed for a moment 
that I had a chance. She would not marry without her 
mother’s consent, so much I saw, and I could say nothing 
against such a decision ; and yet I saw no hope in that 
direction, believing myself an object of peculiar aversion. 
Of course I knew Venice might have looked higher, that 
her mother expected it of her ; yet it seemed hard, when I 
was almost sure she was not indifferent to me. I shall not 
easily forget the day when Mrs. Tempest found me alone, 
and in perfectly intelligible language gave me leave to pay 
my addresses to her daughter. Kingsley, I have always had 
a lurking suspicion that it is you I ought to thank for the 
change in her feelings. She dropped a hint to that effect 
once herself, but I don’t know what you have to say on the 
subject.” 

Kingsley laughed, and shook his head. 

“ Nothing at all. It lies between you and her. She is 
not half so hard or mercenary as for a time she trie 1 to 
appear. She is your friend too, Kenrick, and will soon be 
something more. I think that the more you see of her the 
more you will find to admire and like.” 

“ Possibly, I can believe that now ; all the same, I have 
my own idea about that sudden change of front.” 

Kingsley kept his own counsel. His mind was active 
enough just now. He had many plans in his head, many 
little things he wished done ; but he was very quiet about 


TEST AM ENT A 1! Y . 


375 


them all, speaking little to any one save Montague, who was 
always in his confidence, and who was never better pleased 
than when carrying out some wish of his brother’s. It was 
not very much that was left to do now, and that little was 
quickly and quietly accomplished, and Kingsley felt at last 
that he had set his house in order. 

The sun had gone down in a cloudless blaze of glory. 
The western sky was d}'ed a deep crimson, and the trees 
stood out jet-black against the rich red background in all 
the peculiar grace of their winter tracery. There had been 
a slight snow shower early in the day, and now a sharp 
frost had set in, setting a seal upon the transient beauty it 
touched, and holding it in bondage for a while. The grass 
was coated with a thin, sparkling mantle of purest white, 
and the low evergreen plantations to right and left wore the 
same spotless garment. A crimson-and-saffron sky, a daz- 
zling snow-clad earth, the clear frosty stillness of a Decem- 
ber evening — such was the scene upon which Kingsley’s eyes 
rested with a peaceful sense of well-being and content as he 
lay looking out of his west window upon the familiar land- 
scape beyond. Mrs. Tempest was sitting beside him. She 
had come at his request. He had, she believed, something 
to say to her, but it was a long time before he spoke. 

“ Aunt Helen,” he said, at length, looking at her sud- 
denly, “ I have been making my will to-day.” 

Mrs. Tempest was a little surprised at this preface, but 
she waited quietly for what was to come. It was some time 
before he spoke, and his next words began to explain his 
point. 

“ I don’t suppose you knew much about our mother ; but, 
as a matter of fact, she was an only child — the only child of 
her generation in a family in which there was, one way or 


376 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


another, a good deal of property. She came in, in the er.d, 
for a considerable amount of money, and some of it, at her 
death, came straight to us.” 

Mrs. Tempest remembered having once heard that the 
Miss Kingsley who married her brother-in-law, the General, 
was an heiress of no inconsiderable fortune and expecta- 
tions, but she had never given the matter a thought for 
years, and was quite unprepared for what was to follow. 

“In that way, I have a little fortune of my own, over 
which I have complete control,” went on Kingsley, very 
quietly. “ My brother and sister are amply provided for, 
and I therefore felt justified in disposing of it independently 
of them.” 

Mrs. Tempest was silent, and presently Kingsley con- 
tinued speaking : — 

“ Of course, if life had gone with me as I planned when 
I left Oxford, I should have had no difficulty in knowing in 
what way. to dispose of any surplus income I might have. 
If I had been able to do the work I had intended, my 
mother’s money, such portion as came to me at least, would 
in some way or another have been expended in the effort to 
better the condition of the poor of that part of London where 
my proposed field of action lay.” 

Another silence, again broken b} T Kingsley : — 

“But things have turned out differently from what I 
planned. I am not permitted to carry out my own scheme of 
life. I have had to lay aside my hopes of serving in my own 
way, and have had to content myself with the lower path of 
being served instead of serving ; of being ministered to rather 
than of ministering to others.” A little smile played round 
his lips as he spoke, but he grew grave as he continued the 
thread of his discourse. “ It therefore seems to me as if, in 


TESTAMENTARY. 


377 


simple justice, I ought still to do what I can to benefit in some 
way or another those I had hoped to work for, had my life 
been spent in the way I had hoped. In point of fact, I don’t 
want them to be the losers by my death.” 

u I understand that, Kingsley. But you can get over that 
difficult}' easily : there are so many charities now.” 

“Yes, but one likes to know the inner working of them. I 
am afraid I am sometimes a little inclined to be distrustful of 
the results produced by ‘ charities.’ ” 

“I have heard other people say the same sometimes. 
What then, Kingsley? ” 

He clasped his hands behind his head and for a time was 
silent. It seemed as if he found it a little difficult to put into 
words what he had to say, but he spoke, at last, with much of 
thoughtful earnestness. 

“ Aunt Helen,” he said, “ I have seen enough of the very 
poor to be exceedingly distrustful of , charity in the usual sense 
of the term, that is, of giving money assistance, or of tacitly 
encouraging neglect and improvidence by too readily provid- 
ing asylums for their unhappy children or retreats for the 
aged and infirm. It is a difficult, a most difficult question 
how to act for the best, how to apply general rules so as not 
to fall too heavily in individual cases ; but this much I do 
emphatically believe, that it is less money that is needed than 
men ; not wealth, but active workers. Thanks to the benevo- 
lence of the middle and upper classes, it is not a matter of ex- 
treme difficulty to get money when it is really wanted ; but to 
get wise and earnest and devoted men and women to do the 
needful work — that is the difficulty; and, if I can do any- 
thing to promote the welfare of the. workers, it will be the 
surest way of providing for the work.” 

He looked earnestly at Mrs. Tempest and then went on. 


378 


JOINT GUAKDIANS. 


“Aunt Helen, I think you must be a very wonderful 
woman, for out of your six children three have come for- 
ward to do a work in the world that has always appealed to 
me as one that most sorely needs doing. Now, let me tell 
you what I have done, and remember that, after my brother 
and sister, my cousins are my nearest relatives and most 
naturally to be thought of. I have left to Kenrick, to 
Ursula, and to Cecil ten thousand each. No, please let me 
finish first ; I only tell you because there are a few things I 
want to explain, and it tires me to write, and one never can, 
I think, express one’s meaning in writing so clearly as by 
word of mouth. Kenrick, I know, is eager and anxious to 
improve the sanitar} 7 condition of the neighborhood, to give 
time and labor to the class of patients who cannot possibly 
pay him ; and yet, as a married man, with the contingen- 
cies of married life before him, he must think of the future 
•and act with prudence. Five hundred added to his income 
will give him just so much security that he can afford to 
give away more of his time than he otherwise might be 
able to do, and in that way my work will be forwarded. 
With Ursula it will be much the same. My uncle has a large 
family to provide for, and of course he must treat his chil- 
dren equally. Generous as he is, he must think of them 
first, yet Ursula will have her own poor family about her 
soon, and will possibly want larger means in the carrying out 
of her schemes than her father may, in justice to the others, 
be able to supply. Let me have the satisfaction of feeling 
that I can do something still for the furtherance of plans I 
should have watched with so much interest had I — ” He 
paused, broke off, and added, with his brightest smile, “All 
this is very difficult to soy, Aunt Helen. There is always 
something peculiarly ungraceful and ungracious in inflicting 


TESTAMENTARY. 


379 


upon others testamentary details ; and yet I wanted you just 
to know, so that, when the time comes, you would understand 
what it really meant, and not let the others think themselves 
slighted — not that they ever would, though: it is not their 
way — still — ” He paused, hesitated, and smiled again. 

“ I am an awful blunderer ; you are very good to hear me 
so patiently. I talked- things over with Montague, and he 
entirely approved everything. As for Cecil, I suppose you 
know the idea he has in his mind ? ” 

Mrs. Tempest bent her head. Kingsley looked straight 
out before him, his eyes very earnest and intent. 

“ I think it is very wonderful sometimes how things have 
turned out for me ; how I have been allowed to see others 
stepping into the very place I once meant to occupy, ready 
and eager for the work I once hoped to do. Of course, one 
has faith that it will be done in God’s good timet One can 
leave things in His hands quite confidently, and yet we are 
so constituted that there is wonderful satisfaction in seeing 
how things are to be accomplished. First Kenrick, then 
Ursula, then Venice, — for she will be a worker too, I know, 
— and then my own special boy, Cecil ; it is very delightful, 
you know.” 

His look was so full of confidence that Mrs. Tempest 
could not but smile back, though her heart was very full. 
She said, presently : — 

“You have great faith in Cecil’s constancy. Some peo- 
ple would only treat it as a childish whim.” 

“Cecil and I know each other too -well for me to be able 
to pass the matter over so lightly. It is true he is only 
fourteen, but his mind is in advance of his years ; and a 
strong bias at that age is often a turning-point in a life. 
But however that may be,” added Kingsley, after a pause, 


380 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“whether he keeps to his present wish, or whether it is 
modified by time, I have the greatest confidence in the 
result. Whether as a clergyman, a doctor, or whatever his 
vocation in life may be, I am convinced that his will be a 
useful life, and that neither time nor talents will be frit- 
tered awa} T ; and my legac} 7 maj’ enable him to carry out his 
own views — and possibly mine — with greater ease and 
despatch. In any case, he is very dear to me, a sort of 
younger brother who hns played a brother’s part, and as 
such I wish to treat him. There, I have said my say, and 
you have listened very patiently to a very disagreeable bit of 
information. You understand what was in my mind, but of 
course you know that there is not the least fetter on any one. 
I trust them all implicitly. There is no condition in the 
bequest, and they must not think there is any moral compul- 
sion. I know them too well to have the least doubt as to 
how their lives will be spent. The danger will be of them 
denying themselves too much, and not too little. Ursula in 
particular will want looking after ; she will never think of 
sparing herself.” 

Mrs. Tempest smiled a little. 

“ Ursula was always very much in earnest over every- 
thing ; but she will have Ivenrick and Venice to keep her 
energies in check. It is such a comfort to me that Kenrick 
has chosen a wife who enters so willingly and earnestly into 
his plans of life, and is so glad to have Ursula with them. 
Ursula wants occupation, and I know that a life of practical 
work will be best for her. I could not wish for her a more 
useful vocation than the one she has chosen for herself.” 

“And which she will fill so nobly,” added Kingsley. 
“It is a pleasure to hear her talk, she is so full of earnest 
purpose and of hope and of enthusiasm — the right kind of 


TESTAMENTARY. 


381 


enthusiasm. I always did think, ever since I knew her, 
that she was just the kind of woman they want so much 
there.” 

“Was that why you won her over to your cause?” asked 
Mrs. Tempest, smiling. 

“I?” 

“Yes; do you think she ever entertained such plans till 
you had talked to her of yours ? ” 

“ Or till she had seen Kenrick’s field of labor, and felt 
something of the great pulsating life surging there ? I think 
that was what gave the first impetus.” 

Mrs. Tempest smiled, and shook her head slightly, but 
did not pursue the argument. 

‘ ‘ I suppose I am not to thank you for what you purpose 
doing for my children — ” 

“Please not; you see it is not for them exactly — they 
will understand.” 

“I understand too, I think. I only wish the trust had 
not been necessary, that you — ” But she paused again, 
stayed by a very slight gesture on his part. 

“ You must not even wish that, Aunt Helen : everything 
is so very bright now.” He looked up at her thoughtfully, 
adding, in a quaintly speculative fashion, “ I suppose we 
are always selected to fill the places most suited to us. It 
almost seems as if, despite my ambitious projects, my real 
talents lie in the line of idleness. I did not know how easy 
it would be till I tried.” 

“ Has it been so very easy — always? ” 

He smiled a little, considering the question. 

“It seems so, looking back. I know I have had moments 
of rebellion, but I am ashamed of them now ; and every- 
thing is so very bright — so much, much more easy than 


382 


joint guardians. 


ever I had dared to hope. They all know now, and I have 
not had to tell them, and they are willing it should be so. 
All the pain has gone, as I never thought it could, and now 
there is only one thing more to dread — saying good by to 
them all.” He paused, his eyes growing dreamy, and pres- 
ently added, as if half to himself, “ And I sometimes think 
that perhaps when the time comes the pain of that will be 
taken away. Perhaps we shall never have to say good by 
at all. So many things I dreaded once have all been made 
smooth and bright.” 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

SUNSET DAYS. 

“ Yg) THINK there never were such lovely sunsets,” said 
Kingsley, u as those we get now almost every night.” 
feX Perhaps they were peculiarly beautiful at that time, 
talm, radiant, indescribably peaceful ; yet those who watched 
them with him during those strangely happy days wondered 
sometimes if his eyes might not perhaps see more than theirs, 
if there might not be accorded to him, who stood so close 
upon the threshold of the great eternity beyond, unconscious 
glimpses of the golden city within the pearly gates, of the 
sea of glass mingled with fire, and the white-robed multitude 
with their harps and triumph songs, of the great white 
throne with the everlasting rainbow round about it. 

It was at the sunset hour that he was always strongest ; 
when he would sit beside the window looking out over the 
familiar sweep of park, when he liked to have people in to 
see him, even if he had been unable earlier in the day to do 
much talking or thinking. 

His father would often come in then and sit beside him, 
or Mrs. Tempest, or both ; or it would be Mrs. Tempest with 
Ursula, grave and silent but full of thought and purpose ; or 
one of the boys with some piece of news about the skating 
or the curling matches on the ice. 

It was in these sunset hours that Phyllis would often 

[ 383 ] 


384 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


steal in to play to him when he was too tired to talk, whilst 
Montague would lean over her at the piano or sit beside 
his brother, though watching her with loving eyes ; and 
Kingsley would smile to himself, well pleased by all he 
saw, and muse in a dreamy way of the future of those he 
loved when he should be no longer with them to share their 
joys or sorrows. 

It was as the short winter’s day was drawing to a close 
that Mervyn brought Hilda back to him, never to leave him 
again, and the sunset light was shining into that quiet west 
room when she came to him a daj^ or two later to give him 
that assurance he had often longed to hear. 

“Kingsley, I can be glad now — glad to let you go. I 
would not keep you if I could. I see it all so clearly now. 
For you it is so much the best and happiest, and for your 
sake I can accept it and be glad.” 

He smiled his own bright, tender smile, and caressed the 
dark head so near his own. Hilda was kneeling beside his 
couch, studying the white, worn, peaceful face through a 
shining mist of tears, though there was less of sadness in her 
look than of tender love and trust. 

“It is good to hear you say so,” answered Kingsley. “I 
am so glad.” 

She took his hands in hers, and lifted one of them to her 
lips. 

* ‘ I knew you would be glad to know that the worst of the 
pain is over for me. I was a long time learning my lesson, 
but I think it is learned at last.” 

“ What has taught it you just now?” he asked, with a 
smile. 

“Love, I think,” she answefed, softly; adding, after a 
thoughtful pause, “ Sorrow and love are two very wonderful 


SUNSET DAYS. 


385 


teachers. I think we learn all the great lessons of life -from 
them ; but it takes time for them to do their work. My first 
great sorrow did not soften my heart, it seemed to turn it to 
stone. It needed that second sorrow, those long months of 
watching, anxiety, and suspense, to take me out of myself 
andjnelt it once again. Kingsley, I can never forget what 
you taught me, not in words, for you hardly ever spoke dur- 
ing those long, weary months, when life was nothing but 
protracted pain for you, and no one knew how the struggle 
would end, and the loss of a limb seemed the best that could 
be hoped for. You never spoke of yourself, but your silence 
was more eloquent, I think, than any words could be. I 
saw very much in those days, and, though I did not under- 
stand it all at the time, the lessons have come back to me 
now.” 

He stroked her hair and smiled a little. He understood 
her very well. 

“ I suppose it is love that has taught you, little sister. 
Love is a very wonderful master. I need not ask if Mervyn 
has made you very happy ; I can see it in your face.” 

“He is so good to me,” she said, simply. “ I never could 
have guessed what a difference such love would make.” 

“ I thought as much,” he answered. “ I set my heart on 
seeing you his wife. You see, I always get my own way in 
everything now, — and then people come to see what a wise 
way it is.” 

He was always full of playful brightness, very much as 
he had been of old. He had no thoughts just now to spare 
for himself : his thoughts were all of others. 

He would not hear of any change being made in the 
keeping of Christmas that year. The Tempests from the 
Warrens, who, with the exception of Cecil, had returned home 
25 


386 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


after Hilda's arrival, were invited to spend the festive season 
at the Cedars ; the doles and dinners for the poor and the 
tenantry were distributed as usual, the house was decorated, 
and all was done to keep the season in the good old hospb 
table fashion. 

Mrs. Tempest entered into every plan with the utmost 
readiness, not now, as once before, simply to please herself 
by a display of generosity, but because she had really 
learned now to love and care for others, and to enjoy their 
happiness. 

Kingsley and Cecil were full of plots and plans ; he had 
been much interested in the preparation of his Christmas 
presents, devising something suitable and appropriate for 
every one in the house, as well as for very many out of it ; 
and the arrival of the parcels and cases from town and 
the incidental packing up and labelling had kept him and 
his youthful confidant busy and absorbed for days to- 
gether. 

“ You see,” said Kingsley once, u everybody has been so 
very kind to me all this time that I can’t let go this oppor- 
tunity of giving them all some little remembrance of me. 
At another time it might seem sad perhaps, but hardly 
now : Christmas presents are the most natural things in the 
world.” 

When the day itself dawned he was up and dressed be- 
times, able to receive visitors early, and as much delighted 
with his own numerous presents as with the pleasure his had 
given to every one else. His room was quite a gathering- 
place all through the day. It had been made bright with 
holly and mistletoe as well as with the choicest of the hot- 
house flowers, and was crowded with the presents that every- 
body had brought to display to him. He was so well, so 


SUNSET DAYS. 


387 


bright, so happy, that no cloud hung upon the Christ- 
mas gladness. He was surrounded by loving faces, tended 
by gentle hands. He had all his dear ones about him, and 
all vied with each other- to show him sympathy and tender- 
ness. 

Mrs. Tempest insisted on being his companion whilst the 
others were at church, and she talked quietly to him in a way 
that filled him with happiness and gratitude. Every one had 
a special word of love and thanks for him that day, Venice 
and Kenrick, Phyllis and Montague, Hilda and Mervyn, — 
all had their quiet confidences to make, and messages and 
little odd-looking notes kept pouring in all day, awakening 
his smiles of amusement and his quaintly humorous com- 
ments. 

He was very happy, and all this coming and going and 
merrymaking did not tire him at all, he said. He lay 
watching them with shining eyes as they came and went, 
growing a little dreamy as time passed by, a little less dis- 
posed to talk, but pleased to have them all about him, to 
listen to the eager talk, and to join in now and again with a 
quiet comment or question. 

Perhaps the dreaminess ended in actual sleep, for he 
opened his eyes after a little sense of blank, to find the room 
flooded by the sunset glow, Ursula sitting beside him, and 
Cecil, Phyllis, Hilda, and Montague gathered round the 
piano. 

He was dimly conscious that there had been music about 
him for some time, happy Christmas music telling of the 
glad good-will and peace in heaven and earth. Now it was 
softer, sadder, sweeter ; they were singing his favorite 
hymns. Clearly the fresh young voices sounded in the hush 
of that quiet room : — 


388 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“Yea, Thou wilt answer for me, righteous Lord ; 

Thine all the merits, mine the great reward ; 

Thine the sharp thorns, and mine the golden crown; 

Mine the life won, and Thine the life laid down. 

“ Naught can I bring, dear Lord, for all I owe, 

Yet let my full heart what it can bestow ; 

Like Mary’s gift let my devotion prove, 

Forgiven greatly, how I greatly love.” 

Hilda’s eyes met his as the concluding words were sung, 
and a smile full of tender significance passed between 
brother and sister. How beautiful everything was — the 
music, the golden light, the faces of those around him ! 
The dreaminess was coming back with Phyllis’s soft, har- 
monious playing ; but he roused himself from it, for his 
day’s work was not done yet, and then there was something 
he wished to say to Ursula, and this seemed the very best 
time. She was close beside him, and nobody else was very 
near ; the music still continued. 

“ Ursula,” he said, softly, and she bent forward to listen. 
“ I have got all my Christmas presents given but one, and 
that one I want to leave in your charge : you are the 
person most competent to give it. Will you undertake the 
charge? ” 

“ You know that I will ; for whom is it? ” 

“For our poor people — yours and mine. I have been 
casting about in my mind what to do for them, and I have got 
an idea at last, but must look to you for the accomplishment 
of it. You have told me of that big building behind Ken- 
rick’s house which is given over to you for your own 
purposes; well, we have not entirely settled what those 
purposes will be, but they will be for the benefit of the 


SUNSET DAYS. 


389 


poor of that neighborhood, and that is enough for me. 
You know it will be rather a serious affair getting that place 
into order and filling it up so as to make it bright and 
attractive. You are sure to find that you want a great 
many things, and those things I wish to be my Christmas 
gift to the poor of our parish. In this packet you will find 
what will furnish the funds for all I think you will need. 
Will you take it in trust to be used for that purpose? Will 
you be my proxy in this, and add one more kindness to 
those I have received from you before? In your hands I 
know it will be safe.” 

Ursula took the packet of bank-notes without looking at 
the sum they represented. Her face quivered a little. 

“ Thank you, Kingsley,” she said, as steadily as she 
could. “ You are very good to think of it. I will do all 
I can to be worthy of your trust.” 

His answer was a smile, but he did not say any more, 
and presently Cecil cleared the room, saying it was high 
time the invalid had more rest. His face, however, was 
full of a kind of mischievous amusement, had any one 
observed it, and testified plainly that he had some new 
scheme afloat. 

The Colquhouns and Clare St. John were to dine at the 
Cedars that night, in accordance with a time-honored cus- 
tom. A goodly family party was assembled by eight 
o’clock in the large drawing-room, but the butler’s an- 
nouncement took everbody except Mrs. Tempest a little by 
surprise. 

“ Dinner is served in the picture gallery.” 

That being the case, however, they all adjourned there 
in due order, and were not then greatly astonished, on 
entering the west wing, to see Kingsley, attired with his 


390 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


usual scrupulous care, standing in the doorway of his room 
leaning on Cecil’s shoulder, and smiling with proud glad- 
ness. As the long procession filed in he joined it, bring- 
ing up the rear, making his way slowly, whilst every one 
stood and waited for him, to the arm-chair in the warmest 
and most sheltered place, drawn up to the table next to 
Mrs. Tempest. When he was actually seated with all the 
rest at the festal board quite a little buzz of congratulation 
went round, and Kingsley looked about him with a beaming 
smile, and, turning to Mrs. Tempest, he said, in a low 
voice : — 

“It was so very kind of you to dine here. I should 
never have dreamed of asking ; but it has made it so much 
easier. I did not mean Cecil to say anything about it. I 
hope it did not give a great deal of trouble.” 

“ My dear boy ! do you think anybody finds anything a 
trouble that is done for you? You should have seen the 
zeal with which the servants entered into it. I was afraid 
the secret would be betrayed by the roaring fires the house- 
maids kept up for the past three days. I think they were 
as excited as any one at the idea of making things easy for 
4 Mr. Kingsley to eat his Christmas dinner with the family 
again.’” 

“ Every one is so good,” said Kingsley, gratefully. “ I 
wanted to be here at your wedding breakfast, Hilda, but 
this is better. This is just first-rate, as Cecil says ; some- 
thing like a Christmas ! ” 

Perhaps the dinner was unconsciously shortened a little 
on his account, but he was able to sit it out to the end 
without undue fatigue. The old time-honored toasts were 
proposed ; Kingsley himself made a little speech, full of 
of humor and brightness, with only one little touch of inevi- 


SUNSET DAYS. 


391 


table pathos as he alluded to the kindness he had received 
from all present during his illness, and thanked them for 
the same. He was full of keen pleasure and enjoyment, 
and his brightness was so real and unstudied that it was 
infectious, and there was no forced gayety round the board 
that night. 

Kingsley retired with the ladies into his west room when 
they rose from table, and before very long, in accordance 
with a hint from Colquhoun, who followed them shortly, they 
left him alone to rest, only coming in a little later to say 
good night, as did everybody that evening, down to one or 
two of the old servants. 

He had a smile and a kind word for all, a sort of special 
good-night for each one, peculiarly loving and tender. It 
was a happy ending to a happy day, and not even the 
shadow of parting to come had been able to dim its happi- 
ness. 

And, after all, Kingsley’s wish, his half-expressed hope, 
was realized, and there were no heart-breaking farewells, no 
sad, scJrrowful last days, no trying vigils or wearing sus- 
pense without the light of hope to gild the darkness. All 
was peace and brightness to the very end. 

Hilda and Mervyn were just leaving their room the next 
morning when Montague came up to them, his face very 
white and set, telling its own tale, as faces so often do, 
before a word is spoken. 

Hilda gave him one look ; the word “ Kingsley ” sprang 
to her lips, and then she too turned very pale. Mervyn 
opened the door of the little boudoir, and they all passed in 
together. Montague sat down, shading his face with his 
hand. 

“ It was in the night,” he said, in low, even tones. “ It 


392 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


must have been some time between three and four. I was 
up at two, looking to the fire. He had been sleeping quietly, 
but he roused up a little, and just spoke a few words. I 
watched by him till he slept again, and then went back to 
bed. But I could not get to sleep for some time, and I only 
dozed a little in a broken sort of way. I heard the clock 
strike three, and he was breathing quietly and audibly. I 
must have slept a little, and was awakened by a fall of cin- 
ders just as it struck four. The room was quite quiet, and I 
could hear nothing from his bed ; that made me get up and 
go over to him. I saw it all then. He la} T just as I had left 
him last, with his hand under his head, and a little smile on 
his lips ; but he was dead. I called Kenrick, who said he 
thought it must have happened about half an hour before, in 
his sleep, without a sigh or a struggle. It was fitting that 
he should die like that. I am very thankful.” 

That might be, but he was utterly exhausted by the shock 
and the struggle of the past hours. He turned so faint that 
Mervyn forced him to the sofa, and was glad to leave Hilda 
engrossed in attending to him, whilst he went in search of 
Kenrick. 

Kenrick had hardly been surprised at the flickering out 
of the frail lamp of life ; he and Colquhoun had both agreed 
that this last access of strength could mean only one thing. 
The end had come a little more quickly, quietly, and pain- 
lessly than had been expected ; but who was not in reality 
deeply thankful for that boon ? 

Few tears were shed in that hushed house when the news 
was made known, and in those tears was nothing of rebellion 
or bitterness. The blank was great, the deep silence charged 
with eloquent meaning ; but he was at rest, and they all 
loved him so well that, for his sake, they could rejoice. 


SUNSET DAYS. 


393 


The sunset hour — Kingsley’s own special hour — found 
Hilda at the door of the room where her brother lay sleeping ; 
but she paused even then, her face quivering uncontrollably, 
and turned away for a moment to that other familiar room 
where she had seen him last, and where she had received his 
farewell smile and kiss (neither even guessing that it was to 
be the last) but a few short hours ago. 

To her surprise, the blind was drawn up, admitting the 
glory from the western sky, but in a moment she saw the 
reason of this, for, crouched up in the great arm-chair beside 
the oriel window, was a little bowed-down figure, with pale, 
wistful face turned towards the western sky — no other 
indeed than Cecil, whom Hilda had not seen all day, though 
she had asked for him more than once. 

Something in the boy’s attitude and expression touched 
Hilda keenly; like 'all truly unselfish women, she was ready 
to put aside thoughts of her own grief to comfort one who 
stood in such need of consolation, whose burden was so very 
great. 

He had not heard her turn the handle, he did not heed her 
approach ; but when Hilda suddenly knelt down beside him, 
and put her arms about him in sweet sisterly fashion, some- 
thing in her look and in her gesture broke down all the 
barriers of his reserve, and he broke into sudden, uncontrol- 
lable weeping. 

She was glad to see the tears ; she whispered words that 
made them flow the faster ; but he conquered himself quickly 
and looked up. 

u It’s not that I want him back,” he cried at last, almost 
passionately. “ If I could bring him back by lifting a finger 
I would n’t do it, — I would n’t indeed. He is out there, be- 
yond all that”; the boy’s eyes turned instinctively towards 


394 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


the clear crimson of the western sky. “ There is no more 
trouble for him any more, or sorrow, or anything ; no weary, 
sleepless nights, no more of that hateful pain, that feeling 
of uncertainty as to what might come next. You don’t 
know, I don’t know, nobody can know, what it was like ; but 
I think I know as much as anyone, more than some, because 
I was with him so much, and because I asked questions that 
other people would n’t. I know how he sometimes dreaded 
haying it all over again, how he had a sort of fear that he 
might grow irritable, impatient, with it all. He said very 
little, but I know how he felt about it. Oh, no, I wouldn’t 
bring him back for anything ! I am so glad there is nothing 
more for him to dread, or for us to dread for him. Only — 
only” — and here the boy’s voice faltered and broke — “ it 
makes it just seem as if there were nothing left to live for 
now, as if life were hardly worth having.” 

“ You must make yours worth living for his sake, Cecil,” 
said Hilda, softly. “He has talked so much of. you; you 
must not disappoint him now.” 

Cecil uttered a long-drawn sigh. 

“I will try not; no, I will do my best. I promised 
him, and I will not go back from my word. Some day, 
perhaps, I shall feel as I did before, but now it just seems as 
if the life and hope had gone out of everything.” 

“ Cecil,” said Hilda, “ Mervyn and I have been talking a 
good deal about you lately. You were always Mervvn’s 
favorite pupil, and Kingsley was very fond of you. You 
have been his most faithful little friend and servant all these 
past months, and it is quite natural you should feel as you 
do, even more than others. But you have taken care of him 
so well that it has told upon }’ou, and now it is our turn to 
take care of you. Do you remember asking us to adopt you 


SUNSET DAYS. 


395 


once? We have often laughed about it since; and though 
we don’t quite think of doing that, we do want to take you 
abroad with us when we go, which will be very soon now, 
and have you with us to share our wanderings. Kingsley 
said you were the best kind of companion, never in the way, 
yet never out of the way. We are going to all kinds of 
places, we shall be away most likely for more than a year ; 
your parents have consented to let us take you with us 
if you will go. What do you say, Cecil? Are you willing? ’ 

The light had come into Cecil’s ej’es, the light as of 
sudden, unexpected hope. 

“ Do you mean it, Hilda? do you really mean it?” 

“Really and truly, Cecil.” 

“Oh! thank you ever so much. How very good you 
are ! I could n’t imagine anything that would take the 
wretchedness away like being with you and Mervyn. I 
did n’t feel as if I could go back home just yet, and take up 
the old life again, and here it would be almost worse ; be- 
sides, I couldn’t stay on now. Oh, if you will only have 
me, I’ll never give you a bit of trouble ! and if you will let 
me talk about him sometimes, and keep fresh everything he 
taught me, it will just make life seem worth living again.” 

Hilda stooped her head and kissed him. 

“We will often talk of Kingsley together,” said Hilda, 
softly. “ Will you come with me to him now? ” 

A look of awe crossed Cecil’s face, but he rose quickly. 

“ I have wanted to all day, but I could not. I should like 
to go with you. Wait a moment : I have something to bring 
first.” 

He came back with a box in his hands, but Hilda asked 
no questions. She opened the door quietly and led in her 
little companion, 


396 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Dim, and hushed, and fragrant was the chamber of death, 
just lit up by the evening glow stealing through the closed 
blinds. Montague was there standing beside his brother, all 
the strained pain and hardness gone out of his face. He led 
Hilda towards the bed, and together they stood looking down 
with a strange mingling of consolation and awe at the perfect 
peace of the well-known, well-loved face of their brother. 
It was the face they had known all their lives — gentle, 
tender, serene ; the lips just curving as if with his own smile, 
the eyes closed as if in sleep — Kingsley’s own face, not 
more white than they were used to see it of late ; just his 
own kindly, manly face, every line of pain smoothed away, 
touched by the mysterious beauty that seems to light, as if 
from the world whither they are going, the last look of those 
who pass away in peace. 

Montague and Hilda stood looking in silence at the still 
face of him they loved. It was such perfect repose that they 
could not wish it otherwise with him, could not wish to see 
him wake again. The rest and peace written in every line 
there was their best consolation and help ; they could not 
gaze at him and doubt that with him indeed it was well. 

Cecil had looked for a moment at Kingsley, and then had 
dropped upon his knees and had silently busied himself in 
taking from his box some half-faded, white, wax-like blos- 
soms tinged with brown at the edges, that were closely 
packed in cotton- wool. 

These he placed gently beside and about the quiet figure ; 
they looked a little strange amid the pure whiteness of those 
that had been placed there before. When his task was done 
he looked up at Hilda, the tears standing in his eyes. 

“They are your wedding flowers,” he whispered. “He 
s:»id something about wishing to have them by him when he 


SUNSET DAYS. 


397 


— was — dead. I kept them for him. lie has his wish 
now.” 

Hilda’s face quivered suddenly ; she bent down and kissed 
once again the still face of the dead. Then she let Montague 
lead her away without resisting. In the hush of the sunset 
hour she had said her last farewell to her brother. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 


ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY. 



NOTHER fifth of July, another bright day of sun- 
shine and breezy summer heat. The General’s 
tenants were gathering in groups outside the 
park gates, ready a little later, when numbers gave them 
confidence, to make their way to the cricket-field, where the 
customary game was to be played. 

They were a little more shy and diffident than usual on 
this occasion, for it was two years since the fete had last been 
held, two years since Kingsley and his brother had opened 
proceedings, by walking to the wickets amid tumultuous 
applause of surprise and gratification ; and many changes had 
taken place since that day, which were now being eagerly 
canvassed by the people, as is their way when an anniversary 
comes round, calling to mind all that has happened since it 
was last celebrated. 

Kingsley had died the Christmas following the last cele- 
bration of the fete, and Mervyn had taken away his wife 
from England, and they had only returned last week. Mon- 
tague, left alone, as it were, in the old home, had grown 
strangely grave and absenjt and changed from his old self, 
until his father and friends awoke to the fact that his health 
was in danger of suffering, and had urged on his speedy 
marriage with his cousin. In April he and Phyllis had been 
[ 398 ] 



ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY. 


399 


quietly married, and had settled down at Langbridge, where 
she soon brought back the light of happiness to his face, 
and chased into the background the shadow that had weighed 
him down of late. He would never be quite the old Mon- 
tague again, but the new depth and gravity and gentleness 
that had grown upon him made him a more lovable and 
approachable man than in the old days of fiery pride and 
haughtiness. People said he had grown strangely like Kings- 
ley, and, undoubtedly, the likeness was stronger than it had 
ever been in his brother’s lifetime ; and sometimes in his 
gentler moods, which were more frequent every month as his 
happiness increased, and the sense of sorrow was left more 
and more in the background, Phyllis would look up at him 
and say, between smiles and tears : — 

“ Montague, you are growing so like Kingsley. You have 
just his look and just his way of speaking ” ; and he liked to 
hear her say it, though he would generally shake his head, 
and say : — 

“ A very superficial likeness, I am afraid, Phyllis.” 

Montague was not long away from Chandos Cedars. In 
April he married and left it ; in June he returned to it again, 
for the new mistress was no more. The General was a 
widower for the second time. It had all been very sudden. 
One hot sultry day Mrs. Tempest was driving out alone, as 
she generally did. In the midst of a lonely moorland road, 
with no shelter near, a heavy thunder-storm broke overhead. 
The horses were- young and spirited, and the glare of the 
lightning and the crash of the thunder terrified them to mad- 
ness. They took the bit in their teeth and bolted, wild with 
terror. The carriage was dashed to pieces in their headlong 
flight. Mrs. Tempest, her coachman, and footman were all 
thrown out. The men escaped with comparatively trifling 


400 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


injuries, but their mistress had been fatally hurt. She was 
carried home only to die. The spine had been injured past 
hope of recovery, she was paralyzed in the lower limbs, and 
only conscious at intervals during the three days that she 
survived. She knew from the first that her case was hopeless, 
yet she showed none of that fear of approaching death of 
which she had spoken once to Kingsley. She was gentle and 
considerate to those about her, tender in her manner to her 
children, and very solicitous for her husband’s comfort. 
When her mind wandered, it was of Kingsley she most often 
spoke. She seemed to fancy him near her, and went over 
again the talks she had held with him in days gone by. They 
often heard her thank him with a curious depth of intensit3 r 
for what he had done for her ; and his was the last name 
upon her lips when she died. 

Montague and Phyllis had come to the Cedars to be with 
his father, and they had never left it again for any length of 
time. From the date of Mrs. Tempest’s death it had been 
their home, none the less happy because their presence there 
brought back brightness and light to the saddened heart of 
the widowed father. 

The General had aged very much, as all plainly saw, 
during the year that followed his son’s death, but of late he 
had regained to a great extent his former health and spirit ; 
his upright carriage and active ways returned to him ; he no 
longer shrank from society, but showed himself to the world 
his old soldier-like self again. Since the birth of Phyllis’s 
little boy, last March, he had made visible strides towards 
his former state of well-being ; and his pride in his little 
grandchild and namesake was quite a sight to see. He had 
always been devoted to Phyllis, who had made him the 
sweetest and most loving of daughters, and now he could 


ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY. 


401 


not make enough of her. Chandos Cedars was a very 
happy home, and began once more to be a centre of pleasant 
hospitality and social intercourse. 

With the Warrens the close bond of union established 
during Kingsley’s last illness had never been slackened, and 
the meetings between the two households were constant. 
Mrs. Tempest almost filled the mother’s place to Phyllis ; 
Beryl was her bright, loving companion whenever she was 
wanted ; and Lancelot and Ted were always ready with the 
homage they had accorded her from the very first. The 
General and his brother were fast friends, and hardly a day 
passed without some meeting between them. 

Of Ursula, Venice, and Kenrick, Phyllis had seen little 
since her marriage. Ursula had only once been home 
during that time ; her life was such a very busy one, so full 
of vivid interests and generous cares, that she could seldom 
find it in her heart to leave her work to enjoy a rest and a 
holiday. 

She' declared herself to t be very happy, happiest always 
when hardest at work. Venice and Kenrick were the best 
and kindest brother and sister, and were as glad to have her 
with them as she was glad to be there. She did not write 
much about herself, and said less. Her mother, who saw 
her from time to time, described her as very busy with her 
studies and the poor, and professed herself satisfied with 
the life she had taken up ; yet sometimes she sighed a little 
to herself for the lost childhood of her serious, sensitive 
eldest daughter, and grieved silently to think that at her 
age she had had to learn to drive away sorrow by hard work, 
and to lose in care for others all personal sense of sorrow for 
self. 

Such, in brief, was the history of the past eighteen 
2G 


402 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


months. Of course for the previous July any attempt at 
festivity was entirely out of the question, but on this second 
anniversary Montague had expressed a wish that old tradi- 
tions should be revived, and the General had been pleased to 
think' of keeping his birthday in the usual way. 

Of course the Cedars must be filled with guests after the 
time-honored custom. Mervvn and Hilda had already in- 
timated their intention of returning for the event, bringing 
Cecil with them. Phyllis made a special journey to town to 
persuade Kenrick, Venice, and Ursula to accompany her 
back, and actually succeeded in carrying them off in triumph. 
Alec Edgeler, now the affianced husband of Clare St. John> 
was another guest ; and the whole party from the Warrens 
and some old friends of the General’s swelled the ranks, 
and filled the long corridor of spare guest-chambers that 
had been empty so long. And now the day had arrived, 
and the tenants were mustering in full force. 

By the tents stood Montague in his white flannels, sur- 
rounded by a group of his men similarly attired. He was, 
as usual, to go in first, the tenants having a wholesome awe 
of beginning business themselves. 

Nothing had been said beforehand as to how the match 
was to be opened. That subject had been tacitly avoided. 
Hilda, with a face full of sympathy, not un mingled with 
pain, looked at her brother to see what he would do. 

It was, perhaps, the hardest moment of the day for Mon- 
tague. Things had been hard from the first hour, crowded 
with memories, as this day always must be, — memories so 
closety connected with the brother he had lost. When had 
Kingsley not been with him to share the toil, the pleasure, 
the honors of the day? When had they missed opening 
proceedings together, from that far-off fifth when as slips 


ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY. 


403 


of school-boys they had proudly walked to the wickets with 
their bats over their shoulders ? Vividly the past rose before 
his mental vision, down to that day two years ago when 
Kingsley, worn and weak, the shadow of his former self, 
yet with the flush of pleasure on his face, and the old bright 
light in his eyes, had slowly crossed with him the sunny ex- 
panse of sward, and had taken up his old position as his 
brother’s partner in the contest. And now ? 

Montague looked quickly round him ; his face was a 
little pale, but his manner was quite calm and resolutety 
composed. 

“Cecil,” he said, “suppose you go in with me? It is 
about time we got to work.” 

Cecil’s pads and gloves were on in a twinkling, and he 
swallowed down a great lump in his throat as he fastened ou 
the former. He was nearly sixteen now, and had grown a 
good deal during his year and a half of travel ; still he was 
very slight^ built, and looked little more than a child by the 
side of the broad-shouldered Montague; yet they all knew 
why he had put Cecil into his eleven, and why he had elected 
to open proceedings with him. 

The game was played with as much spirit as possible, 
Ted doing good service in making things go, well backed by 
Alec ; but Montague, their best player, was quickly out this 
year, and the tenants scored an easier victory than they had 
ever done before. 

“Couldn’t play a bit to-day, somehow,” he said, as he 
took a seat between Hilda and Phyllis ; and it was not diffi- 
cult to guess the reason for this. 

He managed the rest of the day better, however, taking 
his wife with him as he went about amongst the people, and 
laughing as lie heard from the lips of one or two privileged 


404 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


old people the prognostications they had uttered two years 
ago as to the probable future lady of the Cedars. Of course 
he could not escape from painful reminiscences of Kingsley, 
to which the well-meaning, loving people felt bound to give 
vent \ but Phyllis shielded him as far as was possible with 
graceful womanly tact, and he quite forgot his sadness for a 
while in the ringing cheer which greeted the arrival of the 
little son and hem carried in his grandfather’s arms. 

Altogether the day passed off very well : the sports were 
as merry, the fireworks as brilliant as ever. The company 
dispersed in excellent spirits ; it was felt generally that 
everything had been most successful, and that, the ice thus 
fairly broken, each year as it came would find the anniversary 
increasingly easy to keep. 

Later on in the evening Hilda missed Montague, and 
found him standing out alone on the moonlit terrace. She 
laid her hand within his arm and stood silently beside him. 
He looked down at her and said, presently : — 

“ At least that is well over.” 

“Yes,” she answered, softly. “ Was it so very hard to 
you, Montague ? ” 

“ Very hard,” he answered, briefly, and his face wore that 
look of exhaustion that only follows severe mental strain. 
“ But I am glad we did it. I should have been sorry now 
if we had let the day pass without notice.” 

“ Yes ; I heard it was your suggestion, your wish, that 
everything should be done as usual this year.” 

“ It was my wish.” 

She looked at him intently, and he, answering the un- 
spoken question in her eyes, spoke again : — 

“ It was my wish because it was his wish. I suppose he 
knew quite well, though such a thing had never entered our 


ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY. 


405 


heads, that that would be his last fifth of July here. I sup- 
pose he had that idea in his mind when he was so very 
anxious to take his share as usual in what went on. Wq 
thought it was a resumption of old habits ; he knew it for a 
sort of farewell.” He paused a moment, and then went on 
in the same quiet way: “When the day was over and I 
happened to be near him, he asked me to see that the old 
traditions were always kept up, — the day always held as 
a holiday. I did not understand him fully then, thought 
such a request almost unnecessary, wondered why he made 
it ; but it is plain enough now. He knew he should not be 
here again ; he knew how hard that would make it for us all, 
particularly, perhaps, for me ; yet he did not want to be the 
cause of defrauding the people of their happiest day in the 
year. He was quite right. It would have been a selfish way 
of showing grief, though but for him I believe I should have 
shown it. However, the worst is over now. It will not be 
so hard again.” 

Hilda looked at him with a touch of wistfulness. It was 
almost the first time since her return that she and her brother 
had been alone together. 

“ You must miss him very, very much,” she said, softly. 
“The house is not like itself without him. I cannot get over 
the empty feeling, or else the sort of expectation that he will 
be coming in the old slow way with a smile on his face, and 
that light in his eyes. I am glad you have made his west 
room your private study ; I should not like it to be always 
shut up, and with you it will never lose the look he gave it. 
Sometimes in winter, sunset times, it must feel a little sad ; 
but, Montague, although you must miss him very much, you 
are happy, are you not?” 

His face softened suddenly as he looked down at her. 


406 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


The likeness to Kingsley was startling now, she had never 
seen it so strong before. 

“ I am very happ} T ,” he answered. “ I have my wife and 
my child, a father and a sister very near and dear to me, 
and very precious memories to cherish. Yes, Hilda, I am 
very happy, none the less so because happiness comes in 
a somewhat different form from what I had pleased myself 
by picturing. If life is at times a sadder thing than I once 
believed, at least it is infinitely sweeter.” 

She looked up with the brightness of tears in her eyes. 

“You have just said it, Montague,” she answered, softly. 
u Sadder, perhaps ; but ah ! so much sweeter ! ” 

He looked down at her tenderly. 

“You, too, are happy then, little sister?” 

She almost started ; it might have been Kingsley himself 
who spoke. 

“Indeed I am,” she answered, earnestly. “No words 
can express Mervyn’s goodness to me.” She paused, and 
with a little tremor in her voice that had in it something both 
of smiles and of tears, she added, “And the sweetest part 
of it all is, we sometimes think, that it was Kingsley who 
gave us to each other.” 

There was a step behind them, and both turned round to 
see Mervyn approaching along the moonlit terrace. 

“ Is my wife there? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, and mine will be wanting me,” said Montague, just 
bending his head so as to touch Hilda’s forehead with his lips. 
Then he moved away, leaving husband and wife together. 

Mervyn put his arm about Hilda in his quiet way, and she 
leant her head against his shoulder as they stood together 
gazing over the beautiful sweep of park, with its silvery 
lights and black mysterious shadows.' 


ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY. 


407 


“You are not tired, my darling? It has not been too 
much for you ? ” 

“ I think it has made me feel very glad and happy, though 
it was rather sad sometimes. It was hardest for Montague, 
but I think he is glad himself now/’ 

“ He did it all splendidly. I was very sorry for him, ,, 
said Mervyn, thoughtfully; “but he looked more like him- 
self just now as he went away.” 

“ Yes, I think he was better,” answered Hilda, softly. 
“We had been talking of Kingsley.” 



CHAPTER XXX. 

CHRISTMAS EVE. 

'Tg) T was Christmas Eve. Ursula had been working her 
very hardest for the past month, and her labors had, 
so to speak, culminated in a great distribution of 
food, clothes, and coal tickets, in her large barn-like build- 
ing at the back of her brother’s house. 

Venice and Kenrick had both been helping her, but the 
last of the applicants for relief had been half an hour 
gone, and one of the helpers had gone to some patient, 
the other to her nursery, and Ursula was left alone in the 
big dim place, dreaming over the dying fire in solitude. 

Three years had passed since Kingsley had put into her 
hand the packet whose contents had enabled her to fit up 
and furnish this great building in a manner most suitable to 
the many purposes to which it was now put ; for two years 
and a half she had been working with steady, resolute per- 
severance at her self-imposed labor of love, and she had 
never once wearied of the burden she had taken upon 
herself, nor. repented the decision that brought so much 
toil upon her. * 

She worked steadily, prayerfully, and with unflagging 
energy ; she did her best always, and asked for no results. 
She sowed her seed with every care, but she had learned 
not to look for the harvest at once ; to be content even if 
[ 408 ] 



CHRISTMAS EYE. 


409 


she never were to reap w<here she had sown. Results she 
undoubtedly did see from time to time, and in most unex- 
pected quarters bright gleams of success to cheer her on 
her way ; but experience was teaching her that such gleams 
were the exception, not the rule ; and she had learned the 
lesson of patience that once seemed so hard, in learning to 
love the work for its own sake — for the sake of one who 
had taught her to love it, and for the sake of the great 
Master whose servants they both were. 

So she sat by her dying fire that afternoon as the early 
dusk was drawing on, a gentle, serious-faced girl, with an 
intellectual, thoughtful look that made her appear older 
than her years, and a steadfast light in the brown eyes that 
told as plainly as did the firmly set lips of courage, deter- 
mination, and steady, fearless resolution. 

Her surroundings were plain enough — a large, bare, 
oak-raftered building, lighted by a row of tall windows, 
and divided by a partition at one end into a sort of double 
room, one part three times as big as the other ; rows of 
desks along the wall, a large table with chairs round it 
in the middle, and capacious cupboards and bookcases all 
along the width of one of the shorter walls. It was all 
very plain and homely, and yet the room was not altogether 
lacking in brightness or beauty. The dark red dado painted 
round the walls gave a warmth and tone to the whole place ; 
and bunches of scarlet-berried holly were disposed about, 
lighting up dark corners, and giving something of Christmas 
brightness to the whole interior. 

One or two pictures and illuminated texts hung upon the 
walls — notably, because it was by far the most valuable of 
them, and yet one hardly likely' to be understood or appre- 
ciated by the untutored mind, a large and very beautiful 


410 


JOINT GUAliDIANS. 


engraving of Holman Hunt’s great picture, “ The Light of 
the World”; and underneath was a text, very beautifully 
illuminated across a background of shaded crimson and 
saffron, like the tints of a sunset sky : — 

“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is 
stayed on Thee.” 

Ursula’s eyes often rested, as they were now doing, upon 
that picture. It had been the first purchase she had made 
with Kingsley’s last gift to her. She felt that her room 
would not be quite complete until she had it hanging there. 

Cecil had been much with her during the past year and 
a half, and had been most useful. He divided his time 
pretty equally between Kenrick’s home, the Warrens, and 
the St. Johns’ town house. He was a great favorite with 
Me’rvyn and Hilda, and had transferred to Kingsley’s sister 
some of that devotion and admiration that he had bestowed 
in such large measure once upon her brother. His plans for 
his future had never changed or wavered ; and the way in 
which' his nature had deepened and developed spoke well 
for the probable meed of success that would silently follow 
his footsteps through life. Very shortly he would be entered 
at Oxford, and, unless his plans materially changed, it would 
be as an East End minister that he would commence the 
work he had so often thought of and talked of with Kings- 
ley. He was more reticent now than in bygone days, but 
none the less in earnest, and none the less devoted to the 
ideal that he had all along placed before his eyes. 

Ursula sat in dreamy silence pondering many things in 
her mind. Christmas brought something of sadness with 
it now, as it generally does to all of us as years roll by, 
and Ursula’s Christmas was spent very much alone. She 
never felt that she could leave the poor just at that season, 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 


411 


so invitations from the Warrens or the Cedars never could 
be accepted ; whilst Venice and Kenrick were all in all to 
each other, and had their children besides, so that, kind as 
they were, she felt that she was not needed by them to make 
their Christmas more complete, and that the shadow which 
seemed to hang over her at this season hardly touched them 
now. 

It was only now and then, and at moments like the 
present, that Ursula felt her isolation at all painfully — felt 
any sadness in the thought that there was nobody near and 
dear to her who was her own special care, to whom she 
was necessary, who turned to her instinctively in sorrow or 
joy, whose life was bound up in hers ; that the lot she had 
chosen was a little lonely, and had its sad as well as its 
happy side. 

Some day, perhaps, Cecil would turn to her to make life 
bright for him. These two had drawn verv closely together 
of late, and already she had contemplated changing her 
quarters so as to make her home with him wfiien he came to 
work with Mr. Holmes - , as was even now proposed. But 
some years at least must elapse before that dream could 
be realized ; and meantime there would be some lonely 
moments for Ursula, perhaps the more intense from their, 
rarity, when she felt with painful keenness the need of 
some warm, strong human love, need of counsel, comfort, 
and sympathy, such as she had never received save from 
her mother and one other — the one of whom she was 
dreaming to-night as she sat over her glimmering fire alone. 
Suddenly and softly the door opened. Ursula turned her 
head, and then started up with an exclamation of sur- 
prise. 

“ Hilda ! ” 


412 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


Mrs. St. John, looking not a day older than she had 
done upon her wedding day, advanced with her own sweet 
smile. 

Perhaps Ursula’s face betrayed a little of her recent 
sadness, for Hilda’s kiss was especially tender, and her 
voice very gentle, as she said : — 

“ I have come to take you away with me, dear. I think 
I have not come too soon. You have showered Christmas 
joy upon others, now it is time that others cared for you.” 

But Ursula still looked much bewildered. 

“But — but — I thought you were at the Cedars: you 
always spend Christmas there.” 

“Yes; we were to have gone yesterday, when the news 
came that a little daughter had made her appearance there 
— did they not send word to you ? So that decided Merv3’n 
and me to spend our Christmas here ; and we keep Cecil 
with us, for your mother is with Phyllis, and he preferred 
Grosvenor Place to the Warrens without her. So we are 
going to keep our own Christmas at home this, year, and I 
have come to carry you off, by fair means or foul, to share 
it with us. Venice and Kenrick will dine with us to- 
morrow, but you are to come now and be one of the home 
party. Ursula, dear, I have always felt that you and I 
ought to be together at Christmas-time, although we have 
never been able to manage it before.” 

Ursula’s lip quivered a little. This tenderness and care 
for her, coming just at this time when she was feeling so 
lonely and sad, touched her to the quick. 

“ 0 Hilda ! ” she said, tremulously, — “ O Hilda ! It is 
so good of you to say so. I have felt just the same. You 
always understand.” 

Hilda put her arms tenderly about Ursula. She under- 


CHRISTMAS EYE. 


413 


stood full well the meaning of those broken words, and what 
was expressed by them though not spoken. 

“ Dear Ursula,” she said, “I do understand. Christmas- 
time cannot but have something of sadness for us mingling 
with its joy ; but you know that he would wish us not to 
grieve, and for his sake we must try to think only of the 
gladness and the joy, the peace on earth and good-will 
towards men, of which he was such an advocate.” 

Tears stood in Ursula’s eyes, but her smile had lost its 
wistful sadness, and only the habitual serious sweetness 
remained. 

“ I do try. I will try. Indeed, it is not often I feel so 
sorrowful. I am very happy generally. My Christmas will 
be very bright, Hilda, if it is spent with you.” 

“ Then come away quickly, dear, for it is getting dark 
and cold. I will give you a quarter of an hour to get your 
things together, and then we must be off, for we have a long 
drive, and Mervyn will be anxious for me to get back.” 

Ursula was justly renowned for punctuality and despatch, 
and before the appointed quarter of an hour had passed she 
and her cousin were rolling westward in Hilda’s luxurious 
carriage. The girl leant back upon the cushions with a 
pleasant sense of restful content. She was tired in body and 
mind with the labors of the past week, but only sufficiently 
tired to make rest and repose a luxur} 7 , and all strain seemed 
lifted off her shoulders when she was carried away beyond 
the limits of her daily life. 

How warm, and bright, and spacious the Grosvenor Place 
house looked to her ! Ursula appreciated the refinements and 
elegances of life more, now that she lived in an atmosphere 
of poverty and want, than ever she had thought to do in old 
days. She could appreciate now Kenrick’s determination to 


414 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


make his home comfortable and as simply luxurious as his 
means permitted ; but of course this house of Hilda’s was 
utterly different from anything he could possess, and the 
sense of space and freedom, the noble proportions of stair- 
case and hall, the beauty of everything she saw, gave her 
an odd sense of enjojunent akin to exhilaration. It was just 
the change she needed after months of toil and anxious care, 
and it was positive rest and refreshment just to stand still 
and look about her. 

Mervyn received her with his usual courtly, quiet kind- 
liness, and as there were visitors waiting for Hilda in the 
drawing-room, Ursula ran up to her little boudoir, where she 
was promptly served with tea. She was sitting cosity by the 
fire enjoying the unusual freedom from need to exert her- 
self either in body or mind when the door opened slowly 
and Cecil appeared, with Hilda’s little boy perched on his 
shoulder. 

He was a beautiful child, fifteen months old, most en- 
gaging and affectionate in his words and ways. 

“ Now, Kingsley,” said Cecil, shunting his burden into 
Ursula’s lap, “ say your lesson ; you know you can.” 

It was three months since Ursula had seen the child, and 
the accomplishment of talking had been in its very early stage 
at that time. Now the little fellow looked half shyly, half 
mischievously at her through his long eyelashes, and then 
the suppressed smile dimpling all over his face, he put his 
arms about her neck and cried : — 

“ Aunt Ursoola — Aunt Ursoola ! ” jumping up and down 
in ecstasy of delight at his own cleverness. 

“You and I are to be uncle and aunt, Ursula,” said 
Cecil, stooping to kiss his sister. “ I stipulated that with 
Hilda from the first. I have been drilling him most indus- 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 


415 


triously ever since he could talk — haven’t I, old chap? 
He’s the cleverest, jolliest little man in all the world, the 
best company a fellow need wish for.” 

Odd words from a tall, slim young fellow of seventeen, 
scrupulously dressed, and fastidiously particular in all his 
tastes and habits ; but then Cecil’s devotion to Hilda’s baby 
had been a joke against him from its earliest infancy. 

Ursula was gazing earnestly into the lovely little face of 
the child, trying to trace in it some likeness to him whose 
name he bore. 

“ He has Kingsley’s eyes,” said Cecil, divining her 
thoughts. “ I always said so, and everybody begins to see 
it now. They are just that beautiful dark violet-blue ; and 
there is something of his expression in them too sometimes, 
just a faint reflection of it, when he is in one of his serious 
moods.” 

And then he walked away, leaving his sister studying the 
face of the child with the tears standing in her eyes. 

All the grief, the loneliness, the sorrow, was gone, and 
Ursula was her own calmly contented self again. The ca- 
resses of the little one so spontaneously given had driven 
away all but love and happiness. Surrounded as she now 
was by so many dear ones, how could she any longer be 
sad? 

Hilda came in presently, her face lighting up as she saw 
who was Ursula’s companion. Little Kingsley held out his 
arms to his mother with a shout of baby joy, and as she 
knelt down to be “ loved ” by him he babbled in his pretty 
way of “ Mother ” and “ Aunt Ursoola.” 

“ Doesn’t he say the hard name well? Cecil took such 
pains to teach him. Yes, darling, yes ; don’t smother poor 
mother quite.” 


416 


JOINT GUARDIANS. 


“It is quite good of you to let him call me that,” said 
Ursula, with her grave smile. u You do not know how 
sweet it sounds.” 

Hilda stopped her with a kiss. 

“Are we not sisters, dearest, in heart if not in name? 
And you will love my boy, I know, for my sake, and for the 
sake of the name we have given him. And as he grows up, 
Ursula, I shall look to you to help me. Sometimes I think 
that you and Cecil will help me more than any others could 
do.” 

“ Help you in what? ” asked Ursula, softly. 

u In the wish I have next my heart,” answered Hilda, 
tears sparkling in her soft eyes. “ I want to teach him to 
grow up like one we hold dear, one whom he has never 
known ; to be a true, brave soldier in the army in which we 
have enrolled him — a stainless knight with a stainless shield 
— ready for life or ready for death. Ursula, you know 
what I mean ; you will pray for him, and for me too, that I 
may teach him wisely and rightly, and that he may grow up 
to be like Kingsley.” 


THE END, 


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